"
"'T ain't as if I was doing anything wicked," said Nance, this time
counsel for the defense.
"Course not," agreed Mrs. Snawdor. "How much they goin' to pay you?"
The incredible sum was mentioned, and Mrs. Snawdor's imagination took
instant flight.
"You'll be gittin' a autymobile at that rate. Say, if I send Lobelia
round to Cemetery Street and git yer last week's pay, can I have it?"
Nance was counting on that small sum to finish payment on her spring
suit, but in the face of imminent affluence she could ill afford to be
niggardly.
"I'll buy Rosy V. some shoes, an' pay somethin' on the cuckoo clock,"
planned Mrs. Snawdor, "an' I've half a mind to take another policy on
William J. That boy's that venturesome it wouldn't surprise me none to
see him git kilt any old time!"
Nance, who had failed to convince herself, either as counsel for the
defense or counsel for the prosecution, assumed the prerogative of judge
and dismissed the case. If older people had such different opinions about
right and wrong, what was the use in her bothering about it? With a shrug
of her shoulders she set to work sorting her clothes and packing the ones
she needed in a box.
"The gingham dresses go to Fidy," she said with reckless generosity, "the
blue skirt to Lobelia, and my Madonna--" Her eyes rested wistfully on her
most cherished possession. "I think I'd like Rosy to have that when she
grows up."
"All right," agreed Mrs. Snawdor. "There ain't no danger of anybody
takin' it away from her.
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