"If we haven't got enough to eat, it isn't my fault," said the boy, promptly. "I do my part towards supporting the family. As for you, you spend all your money for rum, and some of mine too."
"What business is it of yours?" said the drunkard, defiantly.
"I want you to bring back my sister's clothes. What have you done with them?"
"You're an impudent young rascal."
"That isn't answering my question."
"Do you want me to give you a flogging?" asked Martin, looking angrily at our hero from his inflamed eyes.
"Don't say any more to him, Rufus," said little Rose, timidly.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, stealing a little girl's clothes, and selling them for rum," said the newsboy, scornfully.
This was apparently too much for the temper of Martin, never very good. He rose from his chair, and made a movement towards the newsboy, with the purpose of inflicting punishment upon him for his bold speech. But he had drunk deeply in the morning, and since selling little Rose's clothes, had invested part of the proceeds in additional liquor, which now had its effect. He stood a moment wavering, then made a step forward, but the room seemed to reel about, and he fell forward in the stupor of intoxication. He did not attempt to rise, but lay where he fell, breathing heavily.
"O Rufus!" cried Rose, clinging still more closely to her brother, whom she felt to be her only protector.