“Oh, I wish I could persuade you to give up this bad life,” resumed Florence, earnestly, “and become honest.”
“Do you really care what becomes of me, miss?” asked Dodger, slowly.
“I do, indeed.”
“That’s very kind of you, miss; but I don’t understand it. You are a rich young lady, and I’m only a poor boy, livin’ in a Bowery dive.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind, miss, such as you wouldn’t understand. Why, all my life I’ve lived with thieves, and drunkards, and bunco men, and——”
“But I’m sure you don’t like it. You are fit for something better.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Dodger, doubtfullly.
“Yes; you have a good face. You were meant to be good and honest, I am sure.”
“Would you trust me?” asked the boy, earnestly, fixing his large, dark eyes eloquently on the face of Florence.