Cast Adrift Part 11

"That's three rows," said Pinky, "and we want ten." She arose, as she spoke, and going to the front window, looked down upon the street.

"There's an organ-grinder; it's the first thing I saw;" and she came back fingering the leaves of her dream-book. "Put down 40, 50, 26."

Mrs. Bray wrote the numbers on her slip of paper.

"It's November; let's find the November row." Pinky consulted her book again. "Signifies you will have trouble through life--7, 9, 63. That's true as preaching; I was born in November, and I've had it all trouble.

How many rows does that make?"

"Five."

"Then we will cut cards for the rest;" and Pinky drew a soiled pack from her pocket, shuffled the cards and let her friends cut them.

"Ten of diamonds;" she referred to the dream-book. "10, 13, 31; put that down."

The cards were shuffled and cut again.

"Six of clubs--6, 35, 39."

Again they were cut and shuffled. This time the knave of clubs was turned up.

"That's 17, 19, 28," said Pinky, reading from her book.

The next cut gave the ace of clubs, and the policy numbers were 18, 63, 75.

"Once more, and the ten rows will be full;" and the cards were cut again.

"Five of hearts--5, 12, 60;" and the ten rows were complete.

"There's luck there, Fan; sure to make a hit," said Pinky, with almost childish confidence, as she gazed at the ten rows of figures. "One of 'em can't help coming out right, and that would be fifty dollars--twenty-five for me and twenty-five for you; two rows would give a hundred dollars, and the whole ten a thousand. Think of that, Fan!

five hundred dollars apiece."

"It would break Sam McFaddon, I'm afraid," remarked Mrs. Bray.

"Sam's got nothing to do with it," returned Pinky.

"He hasn't?"

"No."

"Who has, then?"

"His backer."

"What's that?"

"Oh, I found it all out--I know how it's done. Sam's got a backer--a man that puts up the money. Sam only sells for his backer. When there's a hit, the backer pays."

"Who's Sam's backer, as you call him?"

"Couldn't get him to tell; tried him hard, but he was close as an oyster. Drives in the Park and wears a two thousand dollar diamond pin; he let that out. So he's good for the hits. Sam always puts the money down, fair and square."

"Very well; you get the policy, and do it right off, Pinky, or the money'll slip through your fingers."

"All right," answered Pinky as she folded the slip of paper containing the lucky rows. "Never you fear. I'll be at Sam McFaddon's in ten minutes after I leave here."

"And be sure," said Mrs. Bray, "to look after the baby to-night, and see that it doesn't perish with cold; the air's getting sharp."

"It ought to have something warmer than cotton rags on its poor little body," returned Pinky. "Can't you get it some flannel? It will die if you don't."

"I sent it a warm petticoat last week," said Mrs. Bray.

"You did?"

"Yes; I bought one at a Jew shop, and had it sent to the woman."

"Was it a nice warm one?"

"Yes."

Pinky drew a sigh. "I saw the poor baby last night; hadn't anything on but dirty cotton rags. It was lying asleep in a cold cellar on a little heap of straw. The woman had given it something, I guess, by the way it slept. The petticoat had gone, most likely, to Sam McFaddon's. She spends everything she can lay her hands on in policies and whisky."

"She's paid a dollar a week for taking care of the baby at night and on Sundays," said Mrs. Bray.

"It wouldn't help the baby any if she got ten dollars," returned Pinky.

"It ought to be taken away from her."

"But who's to do that? Sally Long sold it to the two beggar women, and they board it out. I have no right to interfere; they own the baby, and can do as they please with it."

"It could be got to the almshouse," said Pinky; "it would be a thousand times better off."

"It mustn't go to the almshouse," replied Mrs. Bray; "I might lose track of it, and that would never do."

"You'll lose track of it for good and all before long, if you don't get it out of them women's bands. No baby can hold out being begged with long; it's too hard on the little things. For you know how it is, Fan; they must keep 'em half starved and as sick as they will bear without dying right off, so as to make 'em look pitiful. You can't do much at begging with a fat, hearty-looking baby."

"What's to be done about it?" asked Mrs. Bray. "I don't want that baby to die."

"Would its mother know it if she saw it?" asked Pinky.

"No; for she never set eyes on it."

"Then, if it dies, get another baby, and keep track of that. You can steal one from a drunken mother any night in the week. I'll do it for you. One baby is as good as another."

"It will be safer to have the real one," replied Mrs. Bray. "And now, Pinky that you have put this thing into my head, I guess I'll commission you to get the baby away from that woman."

"All right!"

"But what are we to do with it? I can't have it here."

"Of course you can't. But that's easily managed, if your're willing to pay for it."