She laughed aloud at the old, worm-eaten joke and Jim joined. “Bully! Bully, old girl--bully!” He lifted his cup and drained it at one draught and Nance did the same. He seized the jug and poured another drink for each. “Once more----” He leaned across the table. “And here's one for you.” He squared his body and lifted his cup: “To all your little ones--no matter how big they are!” Jim drained his liquor without apparently noticing her agitation, though he was watching her keenly from the corner of his eye. The cup she held was lowered slowly until the whiskey poured over her dress and on the floor. Her thin figure drooped pathetically and her voice was the faintest sob: “I--I--ain't got--none!” “I heard you had a boy,” Jim said carelessly. The drooping figure shot upright as if a bolt of lightning had swept her. She stared at him in tense silence, trying to gather her wits before she answered. “Who told you anything about me?” she demanded sternly. “A fellow in New York,” Jim continued with studied carelessness--“said he used to live down here.” “He LIVED down here?” she repeated blankly. “Yep--come now, loosen up and tell us about the kid.” “There ain't nuthin' ter tell--he's dead,” she cried pathetically. “He said you deserted the child and left him to starve.” “He said that?” she growled. “Yep.” He was silent again and watched her keenly. She fumbled her dress and glanced nervously across the table as if afraid to ask more. Unable to wait for him to speak, she cried nervously at last: “Well--well--what else did he say?” “That he took the little duffer to New York and raised him.” “RAISED him?” She fairly screamed the words, springing to her feet trembling from head to foot. “Till he was big enough to kick into the streets to shuffle for himself.” “The scoundrel said he was dead.” Her voice was far away and sank into dreamy silence. She was living the hideous, lonely years again with a heart starved for love. Jim's voice broke the spell: “Then you didn't desert him?” The man's eyes held hers steadily. She stared at him blankly and spoke with rushing indignation: “Desert him--my baby--my own flesh and blood? There's never been a minute since I looked into his eyes that I wouldn't 'a' died fur him.” She paused and sobbed. “He had such pretty eyes, stranger. They looked like your'n--only they wuz puttier and bluer.” She lifted her faded dress, brushed the tears from her cheeks and went on rapidly: “When I found his drunken brute of a daddy was a liar and had another wife, I wouldn't live with him. He tried to make me but I kicked him out of the house--and he stole the boy to get even with me.” Her voice broke, she dropped her head and choked back the tears. “He did get even with me, too--he did,” she sobbed. Jim watched her in silence until the paroxysm had spent itself. “You think you'd know this boy now if you found him?” She bent close, her breath coming in quick gasps.