That was six years ago. From that small beginning she had worked up a clientele among the artists of the district, which kept her busy every day. She mended their clothes, cleaned their studios, cooked a meal if necessary, became, in short, an institution in the colony. As Jerry Paxton said; "Jane Judd can mend anything from a leak in a pipe to a broken heart."
This was her life by day. Her real life began when the day ended. On this particular night, as on a thousand previous nights, she bought her supper at the butcher's and the grocer's, and climbed the many stairs to her home. As she struck a match to light the gas, there was a light thud on the floor and a purring.
"That you, Milly?" she asked.
The big cat purred loudly and rubbed against her skirt. She took her up and petted her a bit before she so much as laid off her things.
"I've got a piece of fish for you," she added as she put her coat and hat away. Milly, whose full name was Militant, constituted her entire family, and it was Jane's habit to talk to her continually.
"We'll hurry into the kitchen before Mrs. Biggs gets home to-night and get our supper out of the way," she said presently, and led the way down the narrow hall, the cat at her heels. She made her preparations quickly and deftly. Billy Biggs, aged eight, appeared as she was cooking.
"Hello, Miss Judd."
"Hello, Billy."
He was a very dirty and a very dull little boy, who wore his mouth open, and was mentally developed as far as his adenoids would permit. Jane tried to be interested in him, but failed.
"Wisht I had a piece of bread an' butter."