g is free but the
poisonous air, and nothing easy but the language. At all events from my
own varied and unpleasant experiences, and from the stories of others, I
had first drawn certain deductions, then I had proceeded to establish
certain rules for the guidance and direction of any girl who was so
unfortunate as to be forced to walk abroad unattended at night. These
rules became known as "Clara's Code," and were highly approved,
especially by those girls who "couldn't think," as they declared, but
stood stock-still, "too frightened to move," when some wanderer of the
night unceremoniously addressed them.

I cannot remember all those rules now, since for these many years God has
granted me a protector, but from the few I can recall I am convinced that
their principal object was to gain plenty of leeway for the persecuted
girl's escape. No. 3 sternly forbade her ever, _ever_ to pass between two
advancing men--at night, of course, be it understood--lest they might
seize hold of and so frighten her to death. She was advised never to
permit herself to take the inside of the walk when meeting a stranger,
who might thus crowd her against the house and cut off her chance to run.
Never to pass the opening to an alley-way without placing the entire
width of the walk between her and it, and always to keep her eyes on it
as she crossed. Never to let any man pass her from behind on the outside
was insisted on, indeed she should take to the street itself first. She
was not to answer a drunken man, no matter what might be the nature of
his speech. She was not to scream--if she could help it--for fear of
public humiliation, but if the worst came and some hideous prowler of the
night passed from speech to actual attack, then she was to forget her
ladyhood and remembering only the tenderness of the male shin and her
right of self-defence, to kick like a colt till help came or she was
released.

Other portions of the code I have forgotten, but I do distinctly remember
that it wound up with the really Hoyle-like observation, "When in doubt,
take to the centre of the street."

We all know the magic power of the moonlight--have seen it transmute the
commonest ugliness into perfect beauty and change a world-worn woman into
the veriest lily-maid, but how few know the dread power exerted over man
by the street gaslight after midnight. The kindest old drake of the
farm-pond, the most pompously harmless gobbler of the buckwheat-field
becomes