Page:What will he do with it.djvu/51

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WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?
41

legally—and hark, in your ear—fifty pounds. Take me in the humor. Golconda opens—fifty pounds!"

"No," said the vagrant.

"Well," said Rugge, sullenly, "let her speak for her self."

"Speak, child. You don't wish to return to Mr. Rugge—and without me, too—do you, Sophy?"

"Without you, Grandy! I'd rather die first."

"You hear her; all is settled between us. You have had our services up to last night; you have paid us up to last night; and so good-morning to you, Mr. Rugge."

"My dear child," said the manager, softening his voice as much as he could, "do consider. You shall be so made of, without that stupid old man. You think me cross, but 'tis he who irritates and puts me out of temper. I'm uncommon fond of children. I had a babe of my own once—upon my honor I had—and if it had not been for convulsions, caused by teething, I should be a father still. Supply to me the place of that beloved babe. You shall have such fine dresses; all new—choose 'em yourself—minced veal and raspberry tarts for dinner every Sunday. In three years, under my care, you will become a great actress, and make your fortune, and marry a lord—lords go out of their wits for great actresses—whereas, with him, what will you do? Drudge, and rot, and starve; and he can't live long, and then where will you be? 'Tis a shame to hold her so, you idle old vagabond."

"I don't hold her," said Waife, trying to push her away. "There's something in what the man says. Choose for yourself, Sophy."

Sophy (suppressing a sob). "How can you have the heart to talk so, Grandy? I tell you, Mr. Rugge, you are a bad man, and I hate you, and all about you—and I'll stay with grandtather—and I don't care if I do starve—he shan't!"

Mr. Rugge (clapping both hands on the crown of his head, and striding to the door). "William Waife, beware! 'Tis done! I'm your enemy! As for you, too dear but abandoned infant, stay with him. You'll find out very soon who and what he is—your pride will have a fall, when—"

Waife sprang forward, despite his lameness—both his fists clenched, his one eye ablaze; his broad, burly torso confronted and daunted the stormy manager. Taller and younger though Rugge was, he cowered before the cripple he had so long taunted and humbled. The words stood arrested on his tongue. "Leave the room instantly!" thundered the actor, in