He had always fastened the door on going out, but hesitated now about locking Andy in.
All things considered, it was safest, he felt, to lock the door.

There was nothing in the room that could bring harm to the child--no fire or matches, no stairs to climb or windows out of which he could fall.
"I guess I'd better lock the door, hadn't I, so that nobody can carry off my little boy ?" he asked of Andy.
Andy made no objections.

He was ready for anything his kind friend might propose.
"And you mustn't cry or make a noise.

The police might break in if you did." "All right," said Andy, with the self-assertion of a boy of ten.
The man stroked the child's head and ran his fingers through his hair in a fond way; then, as one who tore himself from an object of attraction, went hastily out and locked the door.
And now was to begin a new life.

Friendless, debased, repulsive in appearance, everything about him denoting the abandoned drunkard, this man started forth to get honest bread.