“I’m lonesome because my fellah doesn’t come along.”
“Don’t you feel cold?”
“A little chilly; but I know where we can be warm.”
Ghastly humor! The little laugh with which it was accompanied raised
A FIT OF COUGHING,
which she vainly tried to control. It shook her shivering frame beneath the flimsy rags until she staggered on the sidewalk.
After the paroxysm had subsided I said, “That’s a bad cough you have. Have you had it long?”
“Oh, no; I am as strong and good as ever I was. I got a little cold the other night,” she said, as she placed her hand upon her thin breast in a vain endeavor to check another outburst.
If she had only known. That cough would prove a better extractor of coin from men’s pockets than the disgusting arts of her wretched trade. Her physical frailties would appeal more to men’s hearts than her withered and sickening leer. After some further conversation, which need not be repeated, I said: