Morris took the dainty shoe and went to work at it, blind to the blandishments that come so natural to a woman of her class—so natural that they are tried upon every man whosoever he may be.
Dora took Loney upstairs, to give him something to eat, and incidentally to add a few touches to her toilet, for was not Bennie coming? Bennie, whom Dora loved next to her father, and somewhat more than Loney; Bennie, the bright, clever and industrious young man whose heart was fixed upon the pretty Dora.
Muriel suddenly turned in her chair so as to face the shoemaker, who was busily at work, and said, in a strident voice:
“Say, do you know, I like you?”
The man before her was so surprised by this remark that he let his work fall and looked at her, but she had turned her head, and asked:
“Say, do you know why I like you?”
The man hastily reflected that it could not be for his money, and a dim idea dawned upon him that he must be a rather nice-looking man, and—he simpered a little as he sheepishly replied:
“Sure, I know. I am not so bad-looking yet.”
“No, not that; but it is because you are living here in this God-forsaken cellar that isn’t fit for rats, living from hand to mouth, and yet you take in and feed that half-witted boy that you told your daughter to give some gonsalabus, whatever that is. It must be good, though, for I saw the little chap’s look of pleasure. That’s why.”
“Vot de poy get? Yust a place to sleep, someding to eat unt run errants. He don’t cost much, led him stay. I am from a family who will always help dose who neet it. Our mutter raised us dat vay.”