“Only Mother Quig,” said Norah, with an indifferent air; “she has to do it 'most every night—no getting along any other way with Tom. It beats all how much he can stand.”
“Oh, Norah, won't she never stop?” cried Pinky, starting up. “I can't bear it a minute longer.”
“Shut y'r ears. You've got to,” answered the woman, with some impatience in her voice. “Tom has to be kept to his work as well as the rest of 'em. Half the fuss he's making is put on, anyhow; he doesn't mind a beating any more than a horse. I know his hollers. There's Flanagan's Nell getting it now,” added Norah as the cries and entreaties of another child were heard. She drew herself up and listened, a slight shade of concern drifting across her face.
A long, agonizing wail shivered through the air.
“Nell's Sick, and can't do her work.” The woman rose as she spoke. “I saw her goin' off to-day, and told Flanagan she'd better keep her at home.”
Saying this, Norah went out quickly, Pinky following. With head erect and mouth set firmly, the queen strode across the street and a little way down the pavement, to the entrance of a cellar, from which the cries and sounds of whipping came. Down the five or six rotten and broken steps she plunged, Pinky close after her.
“Stop!” shouted Norah, in a tone of command.
Instantly the blows ceased, and the cries were hushed.
“You'll be hanged for murder if you don't take care,” said Norah. “What's Nell been doin'?”
“Doin', the slut!” ejaculated the woman, a short, bloated, revolting creature, with scarcely anything human in her face. “Doin', did ye say? It's nothin' she's been doin', the lazy, trapsing huzzy! Who's that intrudin' herself in here?” she added fiercely, as she saw Pinky, making at the same time a movement toward the girl. “Get out o' here, or I'll spile y'r pictur'!”