“She’s my gal,” said granny, doggedly.
“You hear her,” said Tom. “Do I look as if I belonged to her? She’s a common beggar.”
“O you ungrateful trollop!” shrieked granny, tightening her grip.
“She hurts me,” said Tom. “Won’t you make her let go?”
“Let her go!” said the policeman, authoritatively.
“But she’s my gal.”
“Let go, I tell you!” and granny was forced to obey. “Now where do you live?”
“340 Bleecker Street.”[Street.”]
“You said it was 417 just now,” said Tom, “and that you had five small children. Was I one of them?”