I like to go there, it's
warm and safe.'
"'If I don't take you there, what will you do?'
"'Don't know. I want to go over there and dance again, as I used to;
but being sick has made me ugly, so they won't have me, and no one
else will take me because I have been there once.'
"I looked where she pointed, and thanked the Lord that they wouldn't
take her. It was one of those low theatres that do so much damage to
the like of her; there was a gambling den one side of it, an eating
saloon the other, and at the door of it lounged a scamp I knew very
well, looking like a big spider watching for a fly. I longed to
fling my billy at him; but as I couldn't, I held on to the girl. I
was new to the thing then, but though I'd heard about hunger and
homelessness often enough, I'd never had this sort of thing, nor
seen that look on a girl's face. A white, pinched face hers was,
with frighted, tired-looking eyes, but so innocent; she wasn't more
than sixteen, had been pretty once I saw, looked sick and starved
now, and seemed just the most helpless, hopeless little thing that
ever was.
"'You'd better come to the Station for to-night, and we'll see to
you to-morrow,' says I.
"'Thank you, sir,' says she, looking as grateful as if I'd asked her
home. I suppose I did speaks kind of fatherly. I ain't ashamed to
say I felt so, seeing what a child she was; nor to own that when she
put her little hand in mine, it hurt me to feel how thin and cold it
was.
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