"I hain't sent for ye, have I?" he asked, hanging up his coat. "And if I
ain't sent for ye, then ye needn't be sneakin' round."

"I've a lot to say to ye," sighed Scraggy mournfully, "and I thought as
how the night was better than the day. It's dark now."

"Then ye'd better trot hum," put in Lem, "if ye don't want another
beatin'."

"I ain't goin' to get no beatin' tonight," assured the woman, throwing
one arm over the bristling cat, "'cause I comed to tell ye somethin'."

Lem turned on her sharply; for Scraggy seemed to speak sanely.

"The bats be gone from my brain, Lem, and I want to tell ye somethin'
'bout Flea--Flea Cronk--and to tell ye that I be hungry."

"What about Flea?" snapped Lem. "Ye're bein' hungry ain't nothin' to do
with me. If ye got somethin' to tell me that I want to hear, lip it out,
and then scoot; for I ain't no time to bother with ye. My time's
precious, Scraggy--see?"

"Yep; but I ain't goin' to tell ye nothin' till ye give me somethin' to
eat."

She cast ravenous eyes on the small bundles Lem was placing on the
table.

"I'll give ye a piece of bread an' 'lasses," was the grudging answer.
"And mind ye, I wouldn't do that but I want to hear what ye say 'bout