in a heap. Five minutes
later some stragglers, noticing the huddled mass on the road, crossed
the street cautiously and stared. Then a crowd gathered, each asking
the other what had happened, each amazed at the other's ignorance.

The excitement seemed to penetrate the houses opposite. Heads were
thrust out of windows, doors were opened, and a stream of men and
women, wearing whatever they could find in the dark, shuffled across
the footpath.

Some still fumbled at their braces; others, draped like Greek statues,
held their garments on with both hands. A coarse jest passed round
when a tall, bony woman came up, a man's overcoat, thrown over her
shoulders, barely covering her nightdress. They stood shivering in the
cold air, greedy to hear what sensation had come to their very doors.

"It's only a drunken man."

"They say 'e was knocked down in a fight."

"No; the Push stoushed 'im, an' then cleared."

Someone struck a match and looked at his face; it was smeared with
blood. Then the crowd rendered "first aid" in the street fashion.

"Wot's yer name? W'ere d'yer live? 'Ow did it 'appen?"

And at each question they shook him vigorously, impatient at his
silence. The buzz of voices increased.

"W'ere's the perlice?"

"Not w'ere they're wanted, you may be sure."

"It's my belief they go 'ome an' sleep it out these cold nights."

"Well, I s'pose a p'liceman 'as ter take care of 'imself, like
everybody else," said one, and laughed.

"It's shameful the way these brutes are allowed to knock men about."

"An' the perlice know very well 'oo they are, but they're afraid of
their own skins."

The woman in the nightdress had edged nearer, craning her neck over the
shoulders of the men to see better. As another match was struck she
saw the man's face.

"My Gawd, it's my 'usband!" she screamed. "Bill, Bill, wot 'ave they
done ter yer?"

Her old affection, starved to death by years of neglect, sprang to life
for an instant in this cry of agony. She dropped on her knees beside
the bruised body, wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of her
nightdress. A dark red stain spread over the coarse, common calico.
And she kissed passionately the bleeding lips, heedless of the sour
smell of alcohol that tainted his breath. The bricklayer groaned
feebly. With a sudden movement she stripped the coat from her
shoulders, and covered him as if to protect him from further harm.

Her hair, fastened in an unt