BABCOCK'S DISCOVERY
yarn stocking wrinkling over the shrunken calf.
Beside him stood a big billy-goat, harnessed to a two-wheeled cart made of a soap-box.
As Babcock stepped aside to let the boy pass he heard Cully shouting in answer to the little cripple's cries. “Cheese it, Patsy. Here's Pete Lathers comin' down de yard. Look out fer Stumpy. He'll have his dog on him.”
Patsy laid down the pail and crept through the door again, drawing the crutch after him. The yardmaster passed with a bulldog at his heels, and touching his hat to the contractor, turned the corner of the coal-shed.
“What is your name?” said Babcock gently. A cripple always appealed to him, especially a child.
“My name's Patsy, sir,” looking straight up into Babcock's eyes, the goat nibbling at his thin hand.
“And who are you looking for?”
“I come down with mother's dinner, sir. She's here working on the dock. There she is now.”
“I thought ye were niver comin' wid that dinner, darlint,” came a woman's voice.
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