“Is he yours, Kulock? Well, I never!… Look at his little eyes … if he don’t look just like Marina! … her nose—exactly! as I live! What a jewel of a lad!… Give him to me!…” She took the baby from him, and bounced it up and down. “There!… there! you little rascal.”
Old man Kradnick, the “master” of the thieving gentry, got up slowly, approached the baby, examined it, and slapped Kulock on the back.
“Fine husky little chap!… He’ll climb through a transom nimbly enough, all right. … Who’s the mother?”
“May she burn like a fire! … She ran away, taking the candlesticks with her.”
“And left you the kid?”
“That’s bad… that’s bad.”
The old man scratched his head. The younger Kradnick approached and said to Kulock: “That’s right. … I guess you’ll have to give up the profession now, and become a nurse. &