Eddy sprang to his feet like a cat. He looked at Ross, and Ross looked at him, and the little girl lay back on the bed and began jouncing up and down.

“Well,” Eddy replied, slowly, “if you really want to know, it was me brought her here, and now I’m goin’ to take her away again; that’s all.”

Once more Ross was conscious of a disarming pity for the boy. He thought he had never seen a human creature who looked so unhappy.

“Look here, Eddy!” he remarked. “Who is she, anyhow?”

“Her?” said Eddy. “Why, what does it matter?”

Ross was silent for a moment.

“I—I’m interested in the little girl,” he said, half ashamed of this weakness. “I’d like to know where she’s going.”

“Gawd knows,” said Eddy, briefly.

“What do you mean?”

“She can’t stay here,” said Eddy. “That’s one sure thing.”

Again he looked at Ross, with a strange intensity, as if he were trying desperately to read that quite unreadable face.

“If you’re really interested in the kid—” he began.

“I am,” said Ross.

Eddy sat down on the bed.

“I don’t believe you told them, over at the house,” he continued. “’Cause, if they knew, they’d of—”

“No, I didn’t,” said Ross.

“Then nobody knows she’s here—but me and you?”

“That’s all.”

“Well,” said Eddy.

 Prev. P 51/90 next