From the Hand of Dolorita
inspect the picture closely when the meal was finished.
Joe approached her as she stood before it later in the evening. There was a curiously excited look in his eyes as he fixed them on her face.
"Do—do you 'uns know her?" he asked, with repressed eagerness.
Andy, the elder son, pricked up his ears at the sound of his brother's voice and turned his mischievous glance toward the couple.
"Joe's sweethea't in N' York," he laughed, indicating the painted figure with his thumb. "He hain't seen her yit, but he 'lows he's agoin' out in th' worl' t' find her when the time comes. He's mighty faithful to her, Joe is. He won't look at any girl in these pa'ts. His hea't's in N' York."
Joe disregarded his brother with the tolerant dignity of a big mastiff annoyed by a toy terrier.
"Do you 'uns know her?" he repeated urgently.
Miss Herrick in truth knew of her only too well. All New York, all the world, in fact, knew of the notorious Spanish woman whose
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