“What are you doing up here?” he asked the woman, without looking at her.
She sank down on the ground, just like a dog.
“I came up to see a janitor in one of those big houses,” she said, “he used to be a pal of mine, but he’s moved. If he’d been there, I’d got a car fare and some grub.”
Master didn’t ask her story. It was written all over her. “Would you work in a laundry?” he asked presently.
“Who’d take me?” she said sneeringly. “Look at that, for dirt,” and she held up a bit of her horrible dress.
“My laundry would,” he said dryly.
“You ain’t got a laundry,” she said quickly, and she shot a glance up at him from her bleared eyes.
“Yes I have—here’s the address,” and he thrust a card in her hand.
“Read it,” she said drearily. “I ain’t got my specks.”
“Good Heaven,” muttered my master, casting her a reluctant glance. “Not much over twenty, and senile decay.”