"Ain't I in luck?" she said, handing her mug back when it was empty.
"Gi' me another, Barney."

Antony Dart drank coffee also and ate bread and dripping. The coffee
was hot and the bread and dripping, dashed with salt, quite eatable. He
had needed food and felt the better for it.

"Come on, mister," said Glad, when their meal was ended. "I want to get
back to Polly, an' there's coal and bread and things to buy."

She hurried him along, breaking her pace with hops at intervals. She
darted into dirty shops and brought out things screwed up in paper. She
went last into a cellar and returned carrying a small sack of coal over
her shoulders.

"Bought sack an' all," she said elatedly. "A sack's a good thing to
'ave."

"Let me carry it for you," said Antony Dart

"Spile yer coat," with her sidelong upward glance.

"I don't care," he answered. "I don't care a damn."

The final expletive was totally unnecessary, but it meant a thing he did
not say. Whatsoever was thrusting him this way and that, speaking
through his speech, leading him to do things he had not dreamed of
doing, should have its will with him. He had been fastened to the skirts
of this beggar imp and he would go on to the end and do what was to be