. . .
Partly to get rid of the woman I sent her out (with almost the last of
my money) for some of the things ordered by the doctor. While she was
away, and I was looking down at the little silent face on my lap,
praying for one more glimpse of my Martin's sea-blue eyes, the
bricklayer came lunging into the house.
"Where's Lizer?" he said.
I told him and he cried:
"The baiby again! Allus the baiby!"
With that he took out of his pocket a cake of moist tobacco, cut and
rolled some of it in his palm, and then charged his pipe and lit
it--filling the air with clouds of rank smoke, which made baby bark and
cough without rousing her.
I pointed this out to him and asked him not to smoke.
"Eh?" he said, and then I told him that the doctor had been called and
what he had said about fresh air.
"So that's it, is it?" he said. "Good! Just reminds me of something I
want to say, so I'll introdooce the matter now, in a manner o' speaking.
Last night I 'ad to go to Mile End for you, and here's Lizer out on a
sim'lar arrand.
Pages:
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962