“All right. Now you take this ten and buy gas with it. Turn that old car south and keep it going until the gas is gone. And if I see your face again on Maxwell Street—” He made the sign of handcuffs. “Mostly honest people live on Maxwell Street. You don’t belong here. Scram! Scram!” He gave her a sturdy push.
The woman was gone before Florence could think twice.
Patrick turned to Florence. “And now, when do I sign you up as a lady cop?”
“Never! Oh, never!” Florence fingered her bleeding cheek. “Do—do you think she’s poisonous?”
“No, not very poisonous.” Patrick smiled. “Just a little antiseptic will fix that up, fine an’ dandy. But really,” he added, “you should carry a piece of lead pipe or maybe a gun. You can’t tell what they’ll do to you—you really can’t.”
“I’m staying on the Boulevard from now on.” The big girl’s tone carried little conviction. Truth was, she knew she would do nothing of the sort.
“Well, anyway,” she said to Frances Ward two hours later, “the widow got her money back. I got a story, and those three cute kids will get a fine break for months to come. And after all,” she added soberly, “it’s for the children, the little children, I did it. Everything we do is for them.”
“Yes.” Frances Ward wiped her glasses with a shaking hand. “Yes, it is always for the little children.”
CHAPTER XXII
LITTLE LADY IN GRAY
“Read it! Read it aloud!” Vivian Carlson insisted as Jeanne still stood staring at the three magic words, SOME CONSIDERABLE TREASURE, that stood out at the center of the note they had found in the ancient churn.