"Well, Torchy, I haven't had the pleasure, have I?"
Say, she's a real sport, Vee is, take it from me!
"Guess not," says I. "This is Helma, late of London, just now at large. It's a case of one's havin' mislaid one's home."
"Oh!" says Vee, a little doubtful. "And one's parents too?"
"Painful subject," says I, shakin' my head warnin'.
But Helma ain't the kind to gloss things over. She speaks right out. "If you please, Miss," says she, "I've no mother, and Daddums has been taken up—the bobbies, you know. And I fancy the money he left for my board must have been all used; for I heard the landlady say I'd have to go to a home. So before daylight this morning I slipped out the front door. I'm not going back, either. I—I'm looking for work."
"For work!" says Vee, starin' first at me and then at Helma. "You absurd little thing! Why, how old are you?"
"I was twelve last month, Miss," says Helma, bobbin' polite.
"And you've been out since daylight?" demands Vee. "Where did you have breakfast and luncheon?"
"I—I didn't have them at all, Miss," admits Helma.