look like one of those children who are born in disease and starvation and put to nurse upon the pavement; her limbs were shapely enough, her back was straight, she had features that were not merely human, but girl-like, and her look had in it the light of an intelligence generally sought for in vain among the children of the street. The blush and the way in which she hung her head were likewise tokens of a nature endowed with ample sensitiveness.
"Oh, your name's Jane Snowdon, is it?" said the barman. "Well, you're just three minutes an' three-quarters too late. P'raps it's a fortune a runnin' after you. He was a rum old party as inquired. Never mind; it's all in a life. There's fortunes lost every week by a good deal less than three minutes when it's 'orses—eh, Mr. Squibbs?"
Mr. Squibbs swore with emphasis.
The little girl took her jug of beer and was turning away.
"Hollo!" cried the barman. "Where's the money, Jane?—if you don't mind."
