Albany, if I want 'em! I don't never want none of yer lovin' any more!"

During this bitter insult a storm-cloud broke overhead, sending sheets
of water into the river. The wind howled above Crabbe's words, and he
brought out the last of his sentence in a higher key. Suddenly the
shrill whistle of a yacht brought the drunken man to his feet.

"It's some 'un alone in trouble," he muttered. But his tones were not so
low as to escape the woman.

"Ye won't do no robbin' tonight, Deary--not tonight, will ye, Lem?
'Cause it's the baby's birthday."

Crabbe flung his squat body about toward the girl. "Shet up about that
brat!" he growled. "I don't care 'bout no birthdays. I'll steal, if the
man has anything and he's alone. I'll kill him like this, if he don't
give up. Do ye want to see how I'd kill him?"

His eyes blazing with fire, he lifted the steel hook, brandished it in
the air, and brought it down close to the thin, drawn face.

Scraggy, uttering a cry, sprang to her feet. "Lemmy, Lemmy, I love ye,
and the brat loves ye, too! He'll grin at ye any ole day when ye cluck
at him. And I teached him to say 'Daddy,' to surprise ye on his
birthday. Will ye list to him--will ye?"

In her eagerness to take his attention from the shrieking yacht, now
close to the scow, Scraggy advanced toward the swaying man. She tried to
lift brave eyes to his face; but they were filled with tears as they met
his drunken, shifting look.