“Charles wouldn’t be out at this time of night,” remarked Barbara, impersonally.
“I’m hungry,” said the Kid.
There was a wistfulness in the voice that touched all the mother in the girl. “Well, I never turn any tramp away hungry,” she said; “I’ll give you some bread and milk, but then you’ll have to go.”
She unlocked the door, and surveyed her small brother chillingly. The Kid had evidently made a day of it. His cap was gone, his shoestrings were untied, his face and hands were streaked with dirt, and one shirt-waist sleeve was torn away.
“Goodness, how dirty!” she said. “There is a place set at the table for our own little boy, but he’s a clean child, and I can’t let you have it as you are now. You’ll have to wash, first. Go up those stairs, and you’ll find a bathroom, the first room to the left. Wash your hands and face, and then come down. I’ll give you something to eat before you go.”
The Kid looked at Barbara steadily. Wonderment, doubt, and understanding were expressed in turn on his round face. He turned without a word, his small fat legs climbed the stairway, and his dirty little figure disappeared inside the bathroom door.
His sister for the first time ventured a look at Jack.
“Bravo, Bernhardt!” he said.
“I hated to do it,” said Barbara. “But I know that he deserved it, and I feel sure that it was the right thing. A psychological punishment is so much better than a scolding or a whipping. And Charles realized what it meant; did you see his dear puzzled little face take on contrition as he began to understand my meaning? Mother says that he is a hard child to manage, but I don’t see why. He responds so readily to an appeal to his reason.”