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The water was dripping from his hair. Guelemer addressed him: "Are you a man, young 'un?" Gavroche shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "A young 'un like me's a man, and men like you are babes." "The brat's tongue's well hung!" exclaimed Babet. "The Paris brat ain't made of straw," added Brujon. "What do you want?" asked Gavroche. Montparnasse answered: "Climb up that flue."
The thought of the fisherman with his dog-bitten face was repulsive to her. "Ye be goin' in with me to see him, ain't ye, Myry?" The brown eyes entreated that she should not be sent to Ben Letts alone. Myra Longman shook her head. She knew that the brat's pa did not want to see her, and again she shook her head as Tessibel waited. "He air been askin' all the mornin' for ye, Tess," urged Mrs.
"Yes, yes, Andy," whispered Tessibel. "Everything'll be all right fer you an' me an' the baby," and she ended, ... "Get back in the garret an' pray for my brat's daddy, too, Andy. He air needin' it worser'n me an' you." Then the squatter girl turned her face to the wall, drew the baby under the coverlet, and the dwarf scuttled up the ladder.
"Trust me," promised the squatter. "I am. There's a mystery about Young's house I mean, there's some one in it beside my brother-in-law, the Skinner girl, and the boy." "Who air it?" The question was no perfunctory expression of interest. Anything relating to Tess was vitally important. "That's what I want you to find out. It's a man!" "Mebbe it's the brat's pa," offered the other.
"It'll help pay for the brat's board these last ten years an' mebby, when it comes to a show-down, I can stick him for a thousand." The woman made no answer. She was, in a way, past answering with a mind of her own. The man, as he stood there, was wicked and cruel, every line in his ugly face and angular body a line of sin. The woman was bent, broken, a wreck.
"It isn't often I ask you to put yourself out for me. The last time was when I asked you to be the baby's godfather. And a pretty godfather you've been. I bet you anything you don't remember the name." "I do," said I. "What's it then?" "It's it's " I snapped my fingers. The brat's name had for the moment gone out of my distracted head. She broke into a laugh and ran her arm through mine.
"Have you had enough?" demanded the student, standing over the fisherman. "Yep, I's a goin' home." Tess laughed low and wickedly. She loved to see the blood oozing from the mark in the ugly face. Every drop matched those dragged from the hearts of the brat's mother, who had suffered for Ben, and of the poor little miserable child himself, struggling for life in the Longman shanty.
Pantingly she drew herself from Frederick. Why? Tess could never tell why! Myra's love for Ben Letts rushed over her overwhelmingly.... The "brat's" mother knew the sweetness of a kiss, and in it had forgotten the blasting winter winds on the ragged rocks where Ben Letts had broken her arm.
"What do you mean?" cries Tou Tou, shrilly; "it was only last night that you were asking me for the Brat's address that you might invite him." "And tell him to bring a judiciously-selected assortment of undergraduate friends with him," supplements Bobby, loudly. "Yes," say I, sighing, "I know I did; but last night was last night."
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