These last words he brought out in a doleful whine, such as he thought might excite compassion.
"There, see if you can say it as I did."
"I haven't got any sick mother," pleaded Rose.
"What's the odds? Half of them aint. Only you must say so, or they won't give you anything. Come, are you ready?"
"I don't want to beg," said Rose, desperately.
"I tell you what, little gal," said Martin, fiercely; "if you don't do as I tell you, I'll give you the wust lickin' you ever had. Say what I told you."
"Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," repeated Rose, unwillingly.
"You don't say it feelin' enough," said Martin, critically. "Anybody would think you didn't care nothin' for your poor sick mother. Say it so;" and he repeated the whine.
Rose said it after him, and though her performance was not quite satisfactory to her stepfather, he decided that it would do.
"There, stand there," he said, "and begin. I'm goin' just across the street, and if you don't do it right, look out for a lickin'."