Page:Stringer - Lonely O'Malley.djvu/63

 "Don't you ever feed him things?" she inquired softly.

Lonely glared at his questioner, fiercely statuesque. Plato changed legs, and rested on another three.



"Oh, and you 've got a baby!" cried the little girl.

"She ain't mine!" explained Lonely, hastily.

"But is n't she a darling?" The little girl in red had been sizing up the bake-shop window.