"You'd have 'em on your neck this minute," she declared, "if work could put them there, for it's meself that needs the money for me rint." "Ahem!" said Mr. Wattles, "I fancied that your claim against the railway had left you pretty comfortably off." "Claim, is it?" cried the laundress. "Claim against the railway? Faith, after keeping me waiting for two years they threw me out of court. They said that Mike contributed his negligence and that it served him right." "That seems a little hard," commented Mr. Clatfield guardedly, for he was a director in the railway. "Small blame to you, but you're a gentleman!" exclaimed the washerwoman. "At least your husband left you quite a little family," the banker ventured to suggest. "Contributory negligence again!" said Mr. Wattles under his breath. "It's all a body has to do to keep them fed," lamented Mary Ann, "as maybe you know well yourself, sir, if you've childer of your own." "I have none," said the other. "God pity you!" returned big Mary Ann. "Ah, that reminds me," put in Mr. Wattles, and coming nearer to the laundress, he explained: "My friend here is the banker, Mr. Clatfield." "It's proud I am this day," she answered, with a courtesy. "He has no children," went on Mr. Wattles, "but he is very anxious to adopt one, and knowing that you have more than you really need----" "What are you saying?" began Mr. Clatfield, but his voice was drowned in an outbreak from the woman. "Is it daft ye are?" she cried. Mr. Wattles continued, unheeding: "He is willing to give you ten thousand dollars for such a one as this"--indicating with his cane an animated lump upon the floor. "Me Teddy, is it?" cried the mother, catching up the lump and depositing it for safety in an empty tub. "Or what would you say to twenty thousand for this one here?" persisted Mr. Wattles, again making use of his cane. "Sure that's me Dan," the woman almost shrieked, and another lump went into the tub. "Well, we are not disposed to quarrel over trifles," went on Mr. Wattles cheerfully. "You select the child and name the price--twenty, thirty, forty thousand--all in cash." "Gwan out of this, and take your dirty money wid yez!" cried Mrs. Murphy, ominously rolling a wet sock into a ball. "Of course, if you feel that way, we shall not urge the matter," said Mr. Wattles coldly. "Good-evening, Mrs. Murphy." "Bad luck to yez for a pair of thavin' vipers!" she called after their retreating figures. "If I had me strength ye'd not get far." "I am astonished at you, Wattles," said Mr. Clatfield when they were safe beyond the alley. "I would not have given a dollar for the lot." "No," said Mr. Wattles, "I suppose not."