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Updated: May 14, 2025
He will, believe me, sir." "So you told me last week," growled Mr. Gilsum, "and the week before that. It's all humbug. Why don't he pay me now? that's what I want to know." Again he put a foot forward, and was again restrained by the hand of the little girl. "I have tried very hard to earn money, Mr. Gilsum," said the musical and plaintive voice, but have been disappointed.
As Marcus approached, he heard the following fragment of conversation: "Yer can't fool this child again, now, I tell yer. Why don't he pay me? that's what I want to know. I will go up." The man stepped forward, as if to ascend the stairs. "Please don't, Mr. Gilsum," said the girl, in a sweet, pleading tone, laying a red and toilworn little hand softly on his arm. "Papa will pay you next week.
Gilsum pushed aside the feeble hand of the little girl, and was about to go up the stairs in good earnest, when Marcus Wilkeson, who had lingered near the door to catch the exact purport of the conversation, called out to him: "Hallo, my friend! what's the row?" Mr. Gilsum stopped, and, turning, said snappishly: "None of yer business.
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