Cast Adrift. Arthur Timothy Shay
said Norah, in a tone of reproof, as she came in.
“Couldn’t help it,” replied Pinky. “I’m bad enough, but I can’t stand to see a child abused like that—no, not if I die for it.”
Norah crossed to the settee and spoke to Nell. But there was no answer, nor did the bundle of rags stir.
“Nell! Nell!” She called to deaf ears. Then she put her hand on the child and raised one of the arms. It dropped away limp as a withered stalk, showing the ashen white face across which it had lain.
The two women manifested no excitement. The child had fainted or was dead—which, they did not know. Norah straightened out the wasted little form and turned up the face. The eyes were shut, the mouth closed, the pinched features rigid, as if still giving expression to pain, but there was no mistaking the sign that life had gone out of them. It might be for a brief season, it might be for ever.
A little water was thrown into the child’s face. Its only effect was to streak the grimy skin.
“Poor little thing!” said Pinky. “I hope she’s dead.”
“They’re tough. They don’t die easy,” returned Norah.
“She isn’t one of the tough kind.”
“Maybe not. They say Flanagan stole her when she was a little thing, just toddling.”
“Don’t let’s do anything to try to bring her to,” said Pinky.
Norah stood for some moment’s with an irresolute air, then bent over the child and examined her more carefully. She could feel no pulse beat, nor any motion of the heart,
“I don’t want the coroner here,” she said, in a tone of annoyance. “Take her back to Flanagan; it’s her work, and she must stand by it.”
“Is she really dead?” asked Pinky.
“Looks like it, and serves Flanagan right. I’ve told her over and over that Nell wouldn’t stand it long if she didn’t ease up a little. Flesh isn’t iron.”
Again she examined the child carefully, but without the slightest sign of feeling.
“It’s all the same now who has her,” she said, turning off from the settee. “Take her back to Flanagan.”
But Pinky would not touch the child, nor could threat or persuasion lead her to do so. While they were contending, Flanagan, who had fired herself up with half a pint of whisky, came storming through the door in a blind rage and screaming out,
“Where’s my Nell? I want my Nell!”
Catching sight of the child’s inanimate form lying on the settee, she pounced down upon it like some foul bird and bore it off, cursing and striking the senseless clay in her insane fury.
Pinky, horrified at the dreadful sight, and not sure that the child was really dead, and so insensible to pain, made a movement to follow, but Norah caught her arm with a tight grip and held her back.
“Are you a fool?” said the queen, sternly. “Let Flanagan alone. Nell’s out of her reach, and I’m glad of it.”
“If I was only sure!” exclaimed Pinky.
“You may be. I know death—I’ve seen it often enough. They’ll have the coroner over there in the morning. It’s Flanagan’s concern, not yours or mine, so keep out of it if you know when you’re well off.”
“I’ll appear against her at the inquest,” said Pinky.
“You’ll do no such thing. Keep your tongue behind your teeth. It’s time enough to show it when it’s pulled out. Take my advice, and mind your own business. You’ll have enough to do caring for your own head, without looking after other people’s.”
“I’m not one of that kind,” answered Pinky, a little tartly; “and if there’s any way to keep Flanagan from murdering another child, I’m going to find it out.”
“You’ll find out something else first,” said Norah, with a slight curl of her lip.
“What?”
“The way to prison.”
“Pshaw! I’m not afraid.”
“You’d better be. If you appear against Flanagan, she’ll have you caged before to-morrow night.”
“How can she do it?”
“Swear against you before an alderman, and he’ll send you down if it’s only to get his fee. She knows her man.”
“Suppose murder is proved against her?”
“Suppose!” Norah gave a little derisive laugh.
“They don’t look after things in here as they do outside. Everybody’s got the screws on, and things must break sometimes, but it isn’t called murder. The coroner understands it all. He’s used to seeing things break.”
CHAPTER VII
FOR a short time the sounds of cruel exultation came over from Flanagan’s; then all was still.
“Sal’s put her mark on you,” said Norah, looking steadily into Pinky’s face, and laughing in a cold, half-amused way.
Pinky raised her hand to her swollen cheek. “Does it look very bad?” she asked.
“Spoils your beauty some.”
“Will it get black?”
“Shouldn’t wonder. But what can’t be helped, can’t. You’ll mind your own business next time, and keep out of Sal’s way. She’s dangerous. What’s the matter?”
“Got a sort of chill,” replied the girl, who from nervous reaction was beginning to shiver.
“Oh, want something to warm you up.” Norah brought out a bottle of spirits. Pinky poured a glass nearly half full, added some water, and then drank off the fiery mixture.
“None of your common stuff,” said Norah, with a smile, as Pinky smacked her lips. The girl drew her handkerchief from her pocket, and as she did so a piece of paper dropped on the floor.
“Oh, there it is!” she exclaimed, light flashing into her face. “Going to make a splendid hit. Just look at them rows.”
Norah threw an indifferent glance on the paper.
“They’re lucky, every one of them,” said Pinky. “Going to put half a dollar on each row—sure to make a hit.”
The queen gave one of her peculiar shrugs.
“Going to break Sam McFaddon,” continued Pinky, her spirits rising under the influence of Norah’s treat.
“Soft heads don’t often break hard rocks,” returned the woman, with a covert sneer.
“That’s an insult!” cried Pinky, on whom the liquor she had just taken was beginning to have a marked effect, “and I won’t stand an insult from you or anybody else.”
“Well, I wouldn’t if I was you,” returned Norah, coolly. A hard expression began settling about her mouth.
“And I don’t mean to. I’m as good as you are, any day!”
“You may be a great deal better, for all I care,” answered Norah. “Only take my advice, and keep a civil tongue in your head.” There was a threatening undertone in the woman’s voice. She drew her tall person more erect, and shook herself like a wild beast aroused from inaction.
Pinky was too blind to see the change that had come so suddenly. A stinging retort fell from her lips. But the words had scarcely died on the air ere she found herself in the grip of vice-like hands. Resistance was of no more avail than if she had been a child. In what seemed but a moment of time she was pushed back through the door and dropped upon the pavement. Then the door shut, and she was alone on the outside—no, not alone, for scores of the denizens who huddle together in that foul region were abroad, and gathered around her as quickly as flies about a heap of offal, curious, insolent and aggressive. As she