“Little gal,” she dolefully said, “I’m a poor widder with five small children. Can’t you give me a few pennies? and may the Lord reward you!”
Tom was a little startled, but quite amused, by this application from granny. She knew there was danger in answering; but there was a fascination about danger, and she thought that, even if identified, she could make her escape.
“Where do you live?” she asked, trying to disguise her voice, and looking down.
“No. 417 Bleecker Street,” said granny, at random, intentionally giving the wrong address.
“I’ll get my aunt to come round to-morrow and see you,” said Tom.
“Give me a few pennies now,” persisted granny, “to buy some bread for my children.”
It was very imprudent, but Tom obeyed an irresistible impulse, and said, “Isn’t one of them named Tom?” and she looked up in her old way.
Granny bent over eagerly, and looked in her face. She had noticed something familiar in the voice, but the dress had prevented her from suspecting anything. Now it flashed upon her that the rebellious Tom was in her clutches.
“So it’s you, is it?” she said, with grim delight, clutching Tom by the arm. “I’ve found you at last, you trollop! Come along with me! I’ll break every bone in your body!”
Tom saw that she had incautiously incurred a great peril; but she had no idea of being dragged away unresisting. She was quick-witted, and saw that, if she chose to deny all knowledge of the old woman, granny would find it hard to substantiate her claims.
“Stop that, old woman!” she said, without the least appearance of fear. “If you don’t let go, I’ll have you arrested!”
“You will, will you?” exclaimed granny, giving her a shake viciously. “We’ll see about that. Where’d you get all them good clothes from? Come along home.”
“Let me alone!” said Tom. “You’ve got nothing to do with me.”
“Got nothing to do with you? Aint I your granny?”
“You must be crazy,” said Tom, coolly. “My grandmother don’t go round the streets, begging for cold victuals.”
“Do you mean to say I’m not your granny?” demanded the old woman, astounded.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Tom, coolly. “You’d better go home to your five small children in Bleecker Street.”
“O you trollop!” muttered granny, giving her a violent shaking; which reminded Tom of old times in not the most agreeable manner.