"Nary," replied Jude. "Young one lost?"
"Yes!" exclaimed the woman, commencing to cry again; "an' a husban', too. I don't care much for him, for he's a brute, but Johnny—blessed little Johnny—oh, oh!"
And the poor woman sobbed pitifully.
Jude looked uneasy, and remembering his antidote for domestic tears, extracted the bottle again. He slowly put it back untasted, however, and exclaimed:
"What does he look like, marm?—the husband I mean. I never wanted an excuse to put a hole through a feller ez bad ez I do this mornin'!"
"Don't—don't hurt him, for God's sake!" cried the woman. "He ain't a good husband—he's run off with another woman, but—but he's Johnny's father. Yet, if you could get Johnny back—he's the only comfort I ever had in the world, the dear little fellow—oh, dear me!"
And again she sobbed as if her heart was broken.
"Tell us 'bout 'em. Whar hev they gone to? what do they luk like? Mebbe I ken git him fur yer," said Jude, looking as if inclined to beat a retreat, or do anything to get away from the sound of the woman's crying.
