The time had been when she did not want to look like a young lady,—when she would have preferred to be a boy. But her tastes had changed considerably since then. Something of the instinct of her sex had sprung up in her, as she was brought to a closer knowledge of more refined ways of life. She was no longer a young Arab in her feelings, as before. Three months had wrought a great change in Tom.
“If you haven’t any place to sleep, Tom,” said Mike, “you can come along of me.”
“Can I?” asked Tom. “What’ll your mother say?”
“Oh, she won’t mind. Only you’ll maybe have to sleep on the floor.”
“I don’t mind,” said Tom. “It’ll be better than sleeping in the street. Where do you live?”
“In Mulberry Street.”
“I guess I’ll get something to do to-morrow,” said Tom.
“What did you use to do?”
“Sweep the crossings sometimes. I won’t do that again. It’s too dirty.”
“It would sp’ile them nice clo’es of yours.”