“Yes you were,” said Jack. “A woman was nearly murdering you.”
“That was my old gal—’tain’t no concern of yourn.”
Evidently there was little use expecting gratitude out of this queer specimen of mortality; and Jack didn’t try.
“You stay quiet and go to sleep, and I’ll give you some breakfast in the morning,” he said to his graceless little bed-fellow.
“You ain’t a-going to take me to the station, then?” demanded the latter.
“No.”
“Or the workus?”
“No.”
“Or old shiny-togs?”
“Who?”