JOE. I know--though I'm getting used to it. Besides, there's the kiddie. Let's have a look at her. MARY. Be careful you don't wake her, Joe! JOE. There's a fire. MARY. She'll be hungry. JOE. You said that she had some food? MARY. That was at three o'clock. And little things aren't like us--they want their regular meals. Night after night she has been hungry, and I've had nothing to give her. That's why I took the purse. JOE. [_Still holding it mechanically and staring at it._] Yes. And, after all, why not? MARY. We can get the poor little thing some warm clothes, some good food-- JOE. [_Under his breath._] A thief's daughter. [_Covers his face with his hands._ MARY. Joe! JOE. Not nice, is it? Can't be helped, of course. And who cares? For three months this game has gone on--we getting shabbier, wretcheder, hungrier--no one bothers--all _they_ say is "keep off the pavement." Let's see what's in the purse. MARY. [_Eagerly._] Yes, yes! JOE. [_Lifting his head as he is on the point of opening the purse._] That's the policeman passing. MARY. [_Impatiently._] Never mind that-- JOE. [_Turning to the purse again._] First time in my life I've been afraid when I heard the policeman. [_He has his finger on the catch of the purse when he pauses for a moment--then acting on a sudden impulse, makes a dart for the door, opens it, and is out, and up the area steps._ MARY. [_With a despairing cry._] Joe! [_She flings herself on the mattress, and sobs silently, so as not to awaken, the child._ JOE _returns, hanging his head, dragging one foot before the other._ MARY. [_Still sobbing, but trying to control herself._] Why did you do that? JOE. [_Humbly._] I don't know-- MARY. You gave it to the policeman? JOE. Yes. MARY. What did you tell him? JOE. That you had found it. MARY. Where? JOE. In a Tube Station. Picked it up because we were starving. That we hadn't opened it. And that we lived here, in this cellar. MARY. [_With a little shake._] I expect he'll keep it himself! JOE. [_Miserably._] Perhaps. [_There is silence for a moment; she has ceased to cry; suddenly she raises herself violently on her elbow._ MARY. You fool! You fool! JOE. [_Pleading._] Mary! MARY. With your stupid ideas of honesty! What have they done for you, or me? JOE. [_Dropping his head again._] It's the kiddie, you know--her being a thief's daughter-- MARY. Is that worse than being the daughter of a pair of miserable beggars? JOE. [_Under his breath._] I suppose it is, somehow-- MARY. You'd rather she went hungry? JOE. [_Despairingly._] I don't know how it was--hearing his tramp up there-- MARY. You were afraid? JOE. I don't want you taken to prison. MARY. [_With a wail._] I'll be taken to the graveyard soon, in a pauper's coffin! JOE. [_Starts suddenly._] Suppose we did that? MARY. [_Staring._] The workhouse? JOE. Why not, after all? That's what it will come to, sooner or later.