"Never saw him before, that I know of."
"Perhaps you haven't. I have. But you remember the two little girls?"
"Which two?"
"That morning we went to inquire about the railroad arch. Of course, you remember." His friend assented. "Well!—that little girl is this chap's kid. She'll come in the evening to take him home. I've seen 'em about together, many a time."
"I remember two little girls, where we went down that street my mother and sister slum in. Tallack Street. Which was the kid? The bony one with the nostril ajar, and the front teeth, that called you a cure?"
"No—the little plummy modest one, with both eyes stood open, and something to suck. Large dark eyes." No really nice young man, such as we like, can ever mention a girl's eyes, even a young child's, without a shade of tenderness.
"What a sensitive youth you are, Scipio!" His friend sees through him. "The other was a little Jezebel."
"Came out of Termagant's egg, I should say. Isn't there a bird called a Termagant? There ought to be."
"I quite agree, but I doubt it. Well—to return to the point—you say you would kill yourself, straight off. How do you know that? You think you would now, but you wouldn't when it came to the scratch. This man doesn't want to kill himself."
"Because of the little girl. He'd kill himself fast enough if he had nothing to live for."