"Who are you?" the investigator questioned me insolently.
"By what right do you ask me that?" I replied. "I haven't asked you who you are."
"Well, I have a right to ask," and turning to the woman, she said: "You must tell me immediately who this man is—do you hear? Who is he? or no coal, no money, no rent—do you hear?" She yelled all this, shaking her jewelled finger in the woman's face. I would have liked to have seen how far she would have gone, but the eyes of the poor mother were so appealing, so full of despair, I went up to the investigator and showed her a paper with the heading of the institution.
"So, you are it!"
"Not a word," I said.
"It's all right." She turned to Mrs. S. "I know who he is. It's all right. Any coal left? No, well, you'll get your coal to-morrow."
"And shoes?" begged the woman.
"Bread, mamma," both children said at once, "ask her for bread, mamma."
This was too much for the well-fed investigator. "Oh, these beggars! these beggars!" she repeated. "Are you coming down soon?" she asked me, and without bidding Mrs. S. good-bye she went out, saying, "I'll wait for you downstairs. I'll have to talk matters over with you."