While Jimmy was getting himself arrested and stowed away behind iron bars, I was devoting myself to the cause of the lovelorn damsel whose letter had brought me to Urvden. Fat finds pathos still for the better. When Cutle looked unhappy, her full-moon face crinkled into a mass of ludicrous creases. It looked a little bit like a mold of gelatin which has not been allowed to "set" long enough and tumbles out in a shapeless and quivering mass. Poor Cutle! I wanted to hutch at her—but where lives the woman who dares tell another how utterly absurd she is when the absurdity seems tragic to the sufferer. I did suggest to Miss Brown that I thought she was waiting her affections, and that the dwarf wasn't a very suitable match. But the poor creature only mumbled half-wittedly that if I was going to turn against her, too, she would kill herself, and I decided that I would have to humor her until circumstances revealed her little dwarf as an entirely unworthy person.

I never had no other lover, lady. I can't give him up. He's the only man that ever looked at me kindlike. If he goes back on me, I'm going to do away with myself. If you don't help me if you let him throw me down and make a fly out of me in front of this whole bunch, you'll be the death of me, that's all. When he goes to lunch, won't you talk to him and  Tell him he ain't treating me right.
Won't you, please?"
And I said I would. 