This was so surprising that Dawkes turned round so as to face him completely, and took his pipe out of his mouth.
"Saving a girl, are yer? What d'yer mean by that? Got religion? Ministers been at yer?"
"No. But a girl dropped into my arms out of nowhere—a girl fleeing from the black wolves they call men in this city—a girl who had been trapped—a good girl, Dawkes. I've got this thing to do—just to put her somewhere, where she'll be safe."
Dawkes gazed upon him with small blear eyes, deliberately. "Good-lookin', I suppose?" he remarked at length.
"Well, no, that's the odd part of it to me," said Felix. "She says that two men wanted her to train for the stage, singing and dancing. But she's not a bit pretty—just a kiddie, all legs and arms, with the most sorrowful eyes—like a lost dog."
Dawkes shrugged his shoulders, and turned away as if from a hopeless idiot. "What d'you want to do with her?" he asked.
"She's been hurt—pretty badly," said Felix, timidly. "I want you to let her spend the night here in the hay."
"Where is she?"
"Close by here."
"Bring her along, so's I can 'ave a squint at her."