“I wonder if you’re like my Sunday-school teacher. She’s awful good, she is really. She goes down to the Traffic Street wharves and picks up drunken men and converts ’em. Do you do that?”
“No,” I answered.
“Well, could you?”
“No,” I admitted, “I do not think that I could.”
But in spite of the confession of inferiority on my part, he paid close attention to my tale.
“How old did you say those kids are?” he asked when I had finished.
“Seven and nine,” I replied.
“They’re game ones, aren’t they?” commented the Man of the World.
He went over to the window and stood there, thinking, for a few minutes.
“If they had any money, do you think they could start up the business again?” he asked.