“No offense, Ellen,” said Barclay, laughingly. “I don’t pretend to be an angel, and I hope the kid will be more of one than I. And how are you yourself, old woman?”
“I’ve had to work very hard, James,” sighed the woman. “It’s been all I can do to earn a poor living for the children.”
“I wish I could help you, and perhaps I may. I’m expecting some money tomorrow, and I’m hanged if I don’t give you ten dollars of it.”
“It would be a great help to me, James,” said his wife, with a momentary look of pleasure.
“Are you going home now?”
“Yes, James.”
“I’ll go along, too, and see what sort of a crib you’ve got. Can you let me have some dinner?”
“Yes, James, though it’ll be a poor one.”
“O, I shan’t mind. Here, give me that basket. I’m stronger than you.”