I know my power, Mr.Carl Walraven, and I mean to use it.

Do you think I need wear these rags?
Do you think I need tramp the black, bad streets, night after night, a homeless, houseless wretch?
No; not if I chose, not if I ordered--do you hear ?--_ordered_ my aristocratic friend, Mr.Walraven, of Fifth Avenue, to empty his plethoric purse in my dirty pocket.

Ah, yes," with a shrill laugh, "Miriam knows her power!" "Are you almost done ?" Mr.Walraven replied, calmly.

"Have you come here for anything but talk?
If so, for what ?" "Not your money--be sure of that.

I would starve--I would die the death of a dog in a kennel--before I would eat a mouthful of bread bought with your gold.