"To daddy--you mean your father?"

"He's a sort of a father, but he's not my real papa," sobbed the little
girl. "He took me when papa died."

"What does your--your daddy want with the five cents?"

At this question the little girl's face flushed.

"I--I daren't tell you--daddy would whip me," she whimpered.

"Does he drink?"

"I daren't tell you."

"Does he send you out very often to beg?"

"He sends me out when he's--when he's--but I daren't tell you. He would
whip me most to death."

"Where do you live?"

"Over there."

And the little girl pointed to a long row of rear tenements, the very
worst-looking in the neighborhood.

"And what is daddy's name?"

"His real name is James MacHenry, but the folks around here all call him
Crazy Jim," she answered.

Jerry started back in surprise. Crazy Jim was the tramp who had been seen
walking off with his packet of documents!

"So you live with Crazy Jim?" said our hero, to the little girl, slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"How long have you lived with him?"

"Oh, a long while, sir."

"Take me to him."

At this request she drew back in horror.

"Oh, I can't do that, indeed I can't," she faltered.

"Why not?"

"I took a man to him once--a charity officer--and daddy--whip--whipped me
for it."

"Then show me where he lives," went on Jerry after a pause. "You needn't
let him see you. I must have a talk with him. Perhaps I'll give him some
money."

The little girl still hesitated, but finally led the way up the street
into a horrible-looking alley and pointed to a dingy tenement-house.

"Daddy is up there on the top floor in the back."

"And is that where you live?" asked Jerry, with a shudder he could not
repress.

"Yes, of course."

"It's not a nice place."

"Oh, no," and something like a tear glistened in the girl's eye.

"Here is ten cents for you," added Jerry. "You had better keep it for
yourself. Are you hungry?"

"A little. I only had some bread to-day for dinner and supper."

"Then go down to the restaurant on the corner and get something to eat for
the money. You need it."

The little girl ran off to do as bidden, and our hero entered the
dilapidated tenement. Four dirty men and women sat on the stoop smoking
and drinking from a tin pail.

"Who are ye lookin' fer?" asked one of the men, roughly.

"Crazy Jim," answered Jerry, briefly, and brushed past him.

The hallway was dark, and it was with difficulty that the young oarsman
fou