"I'll bring her!" said the boy, impulsively.
"No, no! She wouldn't come. I been—in communication—recent. And she writ back. Oh, Richard, she writ back! My heart's broke!"
The boy brushed the handkerchief over the Dog-faced Man's eyes.
"'Are you muzzled,' says she, 'in dog days?'"
"Don't mind her!" cried the boy.
"In the eyes of the law, Richard," Mr. Poddle exclaimed, his eyes flashing, "I ain't no dog!"
The boy kissed his forehead—there was no other comfort to offer: and the caress was sufficient.
"I wish," Mr. Poddle sighed, "that I knew how God will look at it—to-night!"
Mr. Poddle, exhausted by speech and emotion, closed his eyes. By and by the boy stealthily withdrew his hand from the weakening clasp. Mr. Poddle gave no sign of knowing it. The boy slipped away.... And descending to the third floor of the tenement, he came to the room where lived the Mexican Sword Swallower: whom he persuaded to return with him to Mr. Poddle's bedside.
They paused at the door. The woman drew back.