Part 40 (2/2)
”Five cents?” he repeated.
”Yes, mister; please don't say no. I've asked so many for the money already and they won't give me a cent.”
”What are you going to do with five cents?”
”I've got to bring it home to daddy.”
”To daddy--you mean your father?”
”He's a sort of a father, but he's not my real papa,” sobbed the little girl. ”He took me when papa died.”
”What does your--your daddy want with the five cents?”
At this question the little girl's face flushed.
”I--I daren't tell you--daddy would whip me,” she whimpered.
”Does he drink?”
”I daren't tell you.”
”Does he send you out very often to beg?”
”He sends me out when he's--when he's--but I daren't tell you. He would whip me most to death.”
”Where do you live?”
”Over there.”
And the little girl pointed to a long row of rear tenements, the very worst-looking in the neighborhood.
”And what is daddy's name?”
”His real name is James MacHenry, but the folks around here all call him Crazy Jim,” she answered.
Jerry started back in surprise. Crazy Jim was the tramp who had been seen walking off with his packet of doc.u.ments!
”So you live with Crazy Jim?” said our hero, to the little girl, slowly.
”Yes, sir.”
”How long have you lived with him?”
”Oh, a long while, sir.”
”Take me to him.”
At this request she drew back in horror.
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