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CHAPTER XI.—JONAH AND THE WHALE. “My conscience! How lovely and stylish you look!” The child, accustomed to elegant dress, praised with discriminating eyes. Every back bent a little lower. Every face flushed a little rosier under its coat of grime. Praise from Billy was all they asked..
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“Miss Gordon here, made me a harnsome lace yoke fer an underwaist, an’ give it to me fer my birthday,” volunteered Mrs. Wopp. “Wisht I hed a chance to holler into one of them brass dinner-horns, too,” he grumbled. Billy slipped quickly to cover again where he could watch unseen. The men’s faces were black with passion, and their low, intense words seemed all the more deadly because strange, foreign. A coat split down the back with a ripping report, and the boy saw the flash of a knife, and turned away feeling sick. “Where are you going to take me?” she asked, trying to equal his long stride..
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