He had asked her no questions about her past—but concerning her present he chanced a query.
"Mary," he inquired, "do you mean they god you up fer your beesiness?"
"That's about it," she said.
"But vhy don't you square you'self vith the goppers?"
"I don't know. I—I was broke, Max."
"I vish I gould help you, Mary," he said, his curiosity cooling at the thought of an appeal for assistance.
She saw it, and it amused her.
"Can't you do it?" she asked, dropping her voice into a whine.
He tried to draw away from her, but her linked arm held him affectionately fast.
"I been havin' rotten luck," he declared; "somethin' awful. I ain't got hardly only the money vhat's in my glothes."