“It mustn't go to the almshouse,” replied Mrs. Bray; “I might lose track of it, and that would never do.”
“You'll lose track of it for good and all before long, if you don't get it out of them women's bands. No baby can hold out being begged with long; it's too hard on the little things. For you know how it is, Fan; they must keep 'em half starved and as sick as they will bear without dying right off, so as to make 'em look pitiful. You can't do much at begging with a fat, hearty-looking baby.”
“What's to be done about it?” asked Mrs. Bray. “I don't want that baby to die.”
“Would its mother know it if she saw it?” asked Pinky.
“No; for she never set eyes on it.”
“Then, if it dies, get another baby, and keep track of that. You can steal one from a drunken mother any night in the week. I'll do it for you. One baby is as good as another.”
“It will be safer to have the real one,” replied Mrs. Bray. “And now, Pinky that you have put this thing into my head, I guess I'll commission you to get the baby away from that woman.”
“All right!”
“But what are we to do with it? I can't have it here.”
“Of course you can't. But that's easily managed, if your're willing to pay for it.”