Part 42 (2/2)
”No, I am a lawyer.”
”I ain't a-goin' to have the cussed parsons a-prowlin' round 'ere,”
growled the old woman, viciously. ”I ain't a-goin' to die yet, cuss ye; I'm goin' to get well an' strong, an' 'ave a good time of it.”
”I'm afraid you won't recover,” said Calton, gently. ”You had better let me send for a doctor.”
”No, I shan't,” retorted the hag, aiming a blow at him with all her feeble strength. ”I ain't a-goin' to have my inside spil'd with salts and senner. I don't want neither parsons nor doctors, I don't. I wouldn't 'ave a lawyer, only I'm a-thinkin' of makin' my will, I am.”
”Mind I gits the watch,” yelled Lizer, from the corner. ”If you gives it to Sal I'll tear her eyes out.”
”Silence!” said Kilsip, sharply, and, with a muttered curse, Lizer sat back in her corner.
”Sharper than a serpent's tooth, she are,” whined the old woman, when quiet was once more restored. ”That young devil 'ave fed at my 'ome, an' now she turns, cuss her.”
”Well--well,” said Calton, rather impatiently, ”what is it you wanted to see me about?”
”Don't be in such a 'urry,” said the hag, with a scowl, ”or I'm blamed if I tell you anything, s'elp me.”
She was evidently growing very weak, so Calton turned to Kilsip and told him in a whisper to get a doctor. The detective scribbled a note on some paper, and, giving it to Lizer, ordered her to take it. At this, the other girl arose, and, putting her arm in that of the child's, they left together.
”Them two young 'usseys gone?” said Mother Guttersnipe. ”Right you are, for I don't want what I've got to tell to git into the noospaper, I don't.”
”And what is it?” asked Calton, bending forward.
The old woman took another drink of gin, and it seemed to put life into her, for she sat up in the bed, and commenced to talk rapidly, as though she were afraid of dying before her secret was told.
”You've been 'ere afore?” she said, pointing one skinny finger at Calton, ”and you wanted to find out all about 'er; but you didn't. She wouldn't let me tell, for she was always a proud jade, a-flouncin'
round while 'er pore mother was a-starvin'.”
”Her mother! Are you Rosanna Moore's mother?” cried Calton, considerably astonished.
”May I die if I ain't,” croaked the hag. ”'Er pore father died of drink, cuss 'im, an' I'm a-follerin' 'im to the same place in the same way. You weren't about town in the old days, or you'd a-bin after her, cuss ye.”
”After Rosanna?”
”The werry girl,” answered Mother Guttersnipe. ”She were on the stage, she were, an' my eye, what a swell she were, with all the coves a-dyin'
for 'er, an' she dancin' over their black 'earts, cuss 'em; but she was allays good to me till 'e came.”
”Who came?”
”'E!” yelled the old woman, raising herself on her arm, her eyes sparkling with vindictive fury. ”'E, a-comin' round with di'monds and gold, and a-ruinin' my pore girl; an' how 'e's 'eld 'is bloomin' 'ead up all these years as if he were a saint, cuss 'im--cuss 'im.”
”Whom does she mean?” whispered Calton to Kilsip.
”Mean!” screamed Mother Guttersnipe, whose sharp ears had caught the muttered question. ”Why, Mark Frettlby!”
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