“I’ll give you better to eat than any chails,” Mrs. Schmitz broke in with a laugh.
Sydney saw the ghost of an answering smile on the lad’s face, and knew that was what she wished.
“When I went back to—to the place down by the water front where he hides in the daytime, he made this proposition that—that I tried to carry out—and failed.”
“But why you choose my place? I’m not rich.”
“A man paid you fifty dollars last evening, there in the greenhouse, didn’t he?” She nodded. “I was there, saw it, and hurried off to tell him. We came back in time to look through your dining-room windows and see you at dinner. Gee! It looked good.” He hesitated a breath, and indicating Sydney, went on. “He was feeding the dog things I could have fought for.”
“Seedney, no more shall you feed Blitzen at the table.”
“Something like frenzy came to me then, and I said, ‘I’ll do it! I will have some of that dinner!’”
For a time the kitchen was absolutely still. Then Mrs. Schmitz said abruptly, “Still you tell me not why you run out mit mine bread.”
The boy started up. “Don’t you see? He was hungry too. There I was eating a splendid meal in your kitchen and he was out in the cold. I had forgotten him, a pal that had helped me as long as he had a cent. The noise—our signal—recalled me, made me ashamed, and I—I did—what you saw.”
“But how came you down, hurt, lying mit the scratching vines?”