It was a human girl creature about twelve years old.

"Are yer goin' to do it?" she said in a hoarse, street-strained voice.
"Yer would be a fool if yer did--with as much as that on yer."

She pointed with a reddened, chapped, and dirty hand at the sovereign.

"Pick it up," he said. "You may have it."

Her wild shuffle forward was an actual leap. The hand made a snatching
clutch at the coin. She was evidently afraid that he was either not in
earnest or would repent. The next second she was on her feet and ready
for flight.

"Stop," he said; "I've got more to give away."

She hesitated--not believing him, yet feeling it madness to lose a
chance.

"MORE!" she gasped. Then she drew nearer to him, and a singular change
came upon her face. It was a change which made her look oddly human.

"Gawd, mister!" she said. "Yer can give away a quid like it was
nothin'--an' yer've got more--an' yer goin' to do THAT--jes cos yer 'ad
a bit too much lars night an' there's a fog this mornin'! You take it
straight from me--don't yer do it. I give yer that tip for the suvrink."

She was, for her years, so ugly and so ancient, and hardened in voice
and skin and manner that she fascinated him. Not that a man who has no