For the second time that day Scraggy's face shaded to the color of ashes, and her gaze dropped before the fierce eyes directed upon her. "Ye said more'n once, Scraggy," began Lem, "that I wasn't to drink no more whisky. Whose money pays for what I drink? That's what I want ye to tell me!" "Yer money, Lem dear." "And ye say as how I couldn't drink what I pay for?" "Yep, I has said it," was the timid answer. "Ye drink too much--that's what ye do! Ye ain't no mind left, ye ain't! And it makes ye ugly, so it does!" "Be it any of yer business?" demanded Lem insultingly, as he filled his mouth with a piece of brown bread. After washing it down with a drink of whisky, he finished, "Ye ain't no relation to me, be ye?" The thin face hung over the tin plate. "Ye ain't married to me, be ye?" And, while a giant pain gnawed at her heart, she shook her head. "Then what right has ye got to tell me what to do? Shut up or get out--ye see?" He closed his jaw with a vicious snap, resting his half-dazed head on his mutilated arm. Louder came the baby's cries from the back room. Thinking Lem had ended his tirade, Scraggy made a motion to rise. "Set still!" growled Crabbe. "Can't I get the brat, Lemmy?" she pleaded. "He's likely to fall offen the bed." "Let him fall. What do I care? I want to tell ye somethin'. I didn't bring ye here to this boat to boss me, ye see? Ye keep yer mouth shet 'bout things what ye don't like. Ye're in my way, anyhow." "Ye mean, Lemmy, as how I has to leave ye?" Crabbe regarded the appealing face soddenly before answering. "Yep, that's what I mean. I'm tired of a woman allers a snoopin' around, and a hundred times more tired of the brat." "But he's yer own," cried the woman, "and ye did say as how ye'd marry me for his sake! Didn't ye say it, Lem? He ain't nothin' but a baby, an' he don't cry much. Will ye let me an' him stay, Deary?" "Ye can stay tonight; but tomorry ye go, and I don't give a hell where, so long as ye leave this here scow, an' I'm a tellin' ye this--" He halted with an exasperated gesture. "Go an' get that kid an' shet his everlastin' clack!" Scraggy bounded into the inner room, and, once out of sight of the watchful eyes of Lem, snatched up the infant and pressed her lips passionately to the rosy skin. "Yer mammy'll allers love ye, little 'un, allers, allers, no matter what yer pappy does!" She whispered this under her breath; then, dragging the red shawl about her shoulders, appeared in the living-room with the child hidden from view. "An' I'll tell ye somethin' else, too," burst in Lem, pulling out a corncob pipe: "that it ain't none of yer business if I steal or if I don't. I was born a thief, as I told ye many a time, and last night ye made Lon Cronk and Eli mad as hell by chippin' in." "They be bad men," broke in the woman, "and ye know--"