Mickey went back to the room where he helped deliver the clothes basket.
"How much can you earn the rest of the night?" he asked the woman.

"Mebby ten cents," she said.

"Well, if you will loan me that basket and ten cents, and come with me an
hour, there's that back and just a dollar in it for you, lady," he
offered.

She turned from him with a sneering laugh.

"Honest, lady!" said Mickey. "This is how it is: that crying got me so I
went Anthony Comstockin'. There's a kid with a lame back all alone up
there, half starved and scared fighting wild. We could put her in that
basket, she's just a handful, and take her to a place she wants to go. We
could ride most of the way on the cars and then a little walk, and get her
to a cleaner, better room, where she'd be taken care of, and in an hour
you'd be back with enough nickels in your pocket to make a great, big,
round, shining, full-moon cartwheel. Dearest lady, doesn't the prospect
please you?"

"It would," she said, "if I had the cartwheel now."

"In which case you wouldn't go," said Mickey. "Dearest lady, it isn't
business to pay for undone work."

"And it isn't business to pay your employer's fare to get to your job
either," she retorted.

"No, that beats business a mile," said Mickey. "That's an _investment_.