“You think she hasn’t had enough to eat?”
“That, and the stuff she did eat—and what with walking the streets in this ’eat and sleeping out in the Park——”
Mrs. Sniffen hauled up the dumb-waiter and lifted off a covered dish.
“Toasted biscuit,” she explained. “She can’t a-bear anything ’earty, Mr. Barry.”
“Well,” he said, troubled, “what are we going to do with her?”
“That’s for you to say, sir. You brought ’er ’ere.”
He looked at Mrs. Sniffen and thought he detected a glimmer of satisfaction at his predicament.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“In bed, sir. She wants to dress and go away but I wouldn’t ’ave it, Mr. Barry. Ambulance and ’ospital—that’s what would ’appen next. And I ’ad a time with her, Mr. Barry. She said she was in the way and didn’t want to give trouble. Hup she must get and h’off to the streets—But I ’ad ’er clothes I did, soaking in my tubs.... I let ’er cry. I don’t say it ’urt ’er, either. It ’elped, according to my way of thinking.”
“She can’t go if she’s ill,” he said; and looked at Mrs. Sniffen rather helplessly: “Do you think I’d better call in a doctor?”