At every halt he made they pressed closer upon the "Lurcher." It was easy to see why he had been given that name. He was probably an old inhabitant of the neighborhood, and his lurching from side to side of the walk had suggested the nickname to some local wit.

Just as he steered for the rail of the step on which Helen stood, half fearful, and reached it, Sadie Goronsky came bounding out of the house.

Instantly she took a hand--and as usual a master hand--in the affair.

"What you doin' to that old man, you Izzy Strefonifsky? And, Freddie Bloom, you stop or I'll tell your mommer! Ike, let him alone, or I'll make your ears tingle myself--I can do it, too!"

Sadie charged as she commanded. The hoodlums scattered--some laughing, some not so easily intimidated. But the old man was clinging to the rail and muttering over and over to himself:

"They got my dollar--they got my dollar."

"What's that?" cried Sadie, coming back after chasing the last of the boys off the block. "What's the matter, Mr. Lurcher?"

"My dollar--they got my dollar," muttered the old man.

"Oh, dear!" whispered Helen. "And perhaps it was all he had."

"You can bet it was," said Sadie, angrily. "The likes of him wouldn't likely have _two_ dollars all at once! I'd like to scalp those imps! That I would!"

The old man, paying little attention to the two girls, but still muttering about his loss, lurched away on his erratic course homeward.

"Chee!" said Sadie. "Ain't that tough luck? He lives right around the corner, all alone. And he's just as poor as he can be. I don't know what his real name is. But the boys guy him sumpin' fierce! Ain't it mean?"

"It certainly is," agreed Helen.

"Say!" said Sadie, abruptly, but looking at Helen with sheepish eye.

"Well, what?"

"Say, was yer _honest_ goin' to blow seventy cents for that feed I spoke of up on Grand Street?"

"Certainly. And I----"

"And a dime to the waiter?"

"Of course."

"That's eighty cents," ran on Sadie, glibly enough now. "And twenty would make a dollar. I'll dig up the twenty cents to put with your eighty, and what d'ye say we run after old Lurcher an' give him a dollar--say we found it, you know--and then go upstairs to my house for dinner? Mommer's got a nice dinner, and she'd like to see you again fine!"

"I'll do it!" cried Helen, pulling out her purse at once. "Here! Here's a dollar bill. You run after him and give it to him. You can give me the twenty cents later."

"Sure!" cried the Russian girl, and she was off around the corner in the wake of the Lurcher, with flying feet.

Helen waited for her friend to return, just inside the tenement house door. When Sadie reappeared, Helen hugged her tight and kissed her.

"You are a _dear_!" the Western girl cried. "I do love you, Sadie!"

"Aw, chee! That ain't nothin'," objected the East Side girl. "We poor folks has gotter help each other."

So Helen would not spoil the little sacrifice by acknowledging to more money, and they climbed the stairs again to the Goronsky tenement. The girl from Sunset Ranch was glad--oh, so glad!--of this incident. Chilled as she had been by the selfishness in her uncle's Madison Avenue mansion, she was glad to have her heart warmed down here among the poor of Madison Street.

CHAPTER XX

OUT OF STEP WITH THE TIMES

"No," Sadie told Helen, afterward, "I am very sure that poor Lurcher man doesn't drink. Some says he does; but you never notice it on him. It's just his eyes."

"His eyes?" queried Helen, wonderingly.

"Yes. He's sort of blind. His eyelids keep fluttering all the time. He can't control them. And, if you notice, he usually lifts up the lid of one eye with his finger before he makes one of his base-runs for the next post. Chee! I'd hate to be like that."

"The poor old man! And can nothing be done for it?"

"Plenty, I reckon. But who's goin' to pay for it? Not him--he ain't got it to pay. We all has our troubles down here, Helen."

The girls had come down from the home of Sadie again, and Helen was preparing to leave her friend.

"Aren't there places to go in the city to have one's eyes examined? Free hospitals, I mean?"

"Sure! And they got Lurcher to one, once. But all they give him was a prescription for gla.s.ses, and it would cost a lot to get 'em. So it didn't do him no good."

Helen looked at Sadie suddenly. "How much would it take for the gla.s.ses?"

she asked.

"I dunno. Ten dollars, mebbe."

"And do you s'pose he could have that prescription now?" asked Helen, eagerly.

"Mebbe. But why for?"

"Perhaps I could--could get somebody uptown interested in his case who is able to pay for the spectacles."

"Chee, that would be bully!" cried Sadie.

"Will you find out about the prescription?"

"Sure I will," declared Sadie. "Nex' time you come down here, Helen, I'll know all about it. And if you can get one of them rich ladies up there to pay for 'em--Well! it would beat goin' to a swell restaurant for a feed--eh?" and she laughed, hugged the Western girl, and then darted across the sidewalk to intercept a possible customer who was loitering past the row of garments displayed in front of the Finkelstein shop.

But Helen did not get downtown again as soon as she expected. When she awoke the next morning there had set in a steady drizzle--cold and raw--and the panes of her windows were so murky that she could not see even the chimneys and roofs, or down into the barren little yards.

This--nor a much heavier--rain would not have ordinarily balked Helen. She was used to being out in all winds and weathers. But she actually had nothing fit to wear in the rain.

If she had worn the new cheap dress out of doors she knew what would happen. It would shrink all out of shape. And she had no raincoat, nor would she ask her cousins--so she told herself--for the loan of an umbrella.

So, as long as it rained steadily, it looked as though the girl from Sunset Ranch was a sure-enough "shut-in." Nor did she contemplate this possibility with any pleasure.