“He didn’t shake you? Then why—”
“I couldn’t do what he wanted me to do,” murmured Elsie. She felt her face flushing and she dropped her head. “He wanted me to—to—”
The other interrupted her sharply. “You needn’t say it—I know.” She gripped the table in sudden anger. “One of these dogs—eh?”
Elsie stared at her blankly. The old sense of forlornness, of being alone and uncared for, returned to her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she faltered.
“What was his name?”
“Druce,” gasped Elsie.
“Druce, eh?” replied the tall girl, as though the name had opened a whole vista of understanding. “Druce? Well, look out for him, girlie. He’ll hound you from one end of the town to the other until he gets you. That’s his business.”
“He always said he was a dealer in live stock.”
The tall girl laughed scornfully. “Live stock!” she jeered. “Did he get away with that? Well, that’s what he is—a dealer in human live stock, a trafficker in women, one of the oldest professions in the world—and the dirtiest. Live stock! That’s what he calls girls like you and me—cattle!”