You are very good
to me, but, indeed, I cannot do it. Don't worry, please; I don't blame
you."
"Great Lord," gasped Rags, with a queer choking in his throat, "but
ain't she got grit." Then he bethought him of the people who he still
believed inhabited the rest of the tenement, and he concluded that as
the day was yet so early they might still be asleep, and that while
they slept, he could "lift"--as he mentally described the act--
whatever they might have laid away for breakfast. Excited with this
hope, he ran noiselessly down the stairs in his bare feet, and tried
the doors of the different landings. But each he found open and each
room bare and deserted. Then it occurred to him that at this hour he
might even risk a sally into the street. He had money with him, and
the milk-carts and bakers' wagons must be passing every minute. He ran
back to get the money out of his coat, delighted with the chance and
chiding himself for not having dared to do it sooner. He stood over
the baby a moment before he left the room, and flushed like a girl as
he stooped and kissed one of the bare arms. "I'm going out to get you
some breakfast," he said. "I won't be gone long, but if I should," he
added, as he paused and shrugged his shoulders, "I'll send the
sergeant after you from the station-house.
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