“Thank you, mister.”
“Perhaps that will prevent your mother from beating you.”
“I don’t know,” said the boy doubtfully. “Mudder’s a hard case. She’s awful strong. Won’t you go home with me?”
“I am afraid I can’t say anything that will make any impression on your mother. Where do you live?”
The boy pointed to a shabby house of three stories, situated not far away.
“It’s only a few steps, mister.”
“Perhaps I may be able to do the little fellow some good,” thought Gerald. “At any rate, as the house is so near, I may as well go in.”
“Very well,” he said aloud. “I’ll go in and see your mother. Do you think that she has been drinking lately?”
“No; I spilt the whisky. That’s why she’s mad.”