“She’s been walking and is tired,” said Camperdown. “We’re just on our way home.”
“’Tis too heavy a contract she’s been under, sir,” said the man respectfully; “one woman can’t reform a city; but she’s done a powerful lot. Since she came and the Salvation Army followed her, they say the badness has dropped off wonderful, and there’s been less for the police to do.”
“How long have you been on the force?” asked Camperdown, putting an end of the shawl over his wife’s face.
“Three years, sir; ’twas your wife as got me on. I’d thrown up a good job in the country and come to the city, where I thought I’d better myself. I might have been in a heathen country for all the notice I got. Then my wife died and my little girl got fever and I was going to the bad when one day there was a rustlin’ beside me just as if an angel had dropped down from the sky——”
“The angel, I suppose, being my wife,” said Camperdown with interest.
“Yes, sir, and she found me in work, and I’m a happy man to-day, and if there ever was any mischief a-going to happen to her, I’d like to be on the spot,” and replacing his helmet on his head the man ejaculated, “Beg pardon, sir, for disturbing you,” and stalked away.
Camperdown smiled and gently shook his wife. “Come, we must go; you’ll get a stiff neck.”
Stargarde pulled the shawl from her face, blinked her eyes at the electric lights staring at her, and gazed at the back of the retreating policeman. “Where am I? Brian, why did you allow me to fall asleep? That is John Morris, isn’t it? Mr. Morris, how is your little girl?”
The man turned and came back. “Well and hearty, ma’am, thank you.”
“She’s a dear little girl, and so fond of you,” said Stargarde. “Take good care of her. Good-night, good-night,” and she smiled kindly at him.