she got for slaving her life out for "ha 'ulkin' brute" . . . never again as long as she lived would she rescue a stranger from "hartful 'uzzies" . . . Oh, how mistaken she had been in ever reckoning Mr. Gedge-Tomkins a gentleman!
Mr. Gedge-Tomkins stood in his doorway, breathing heavily, his heart still sore from his unsatisfying encounter with watered whisky the night before. The lament of Mrs. Meeken came up fainter from the well of the staircase. An angelic smile wreathed the lips of Pollyooly who had been a grave spectator of the distressing scene.
The eyes of Mr. Gedge-Tomkins rested on her thoughtfully. His work must not be interrupted again by watered whisky; he shrank from the trouble of seeking a new laundress.
"You can come back at once. Get my breakfast," he said in the surly tone of one who reluctantly yields under the pressure of circumstances.
Pollyooly's heart leaped with joy at this sudden, unexpected doubling of her income. It was on the tip of her tongue to accept the offer. But she checked herself, and gazed at Mr. Gedge-Tomkins with a cold eye:
