's illusions that remained to him. He had never drunk
real coffee in his life.

In addition to the bread, there was a small piece of cold pork. His
mother refilled his cup with coffee. As he was finishing the bread, he
began to watch if more was forthcoming. She intercepted his questioning
glance.

"Now, don't be hoggish, Johnny," was her comment. "You've had your
share. Your brothers an' sisters are smaller'n you."

He did not answer the rebuke. He was not much of a talker. Also, he
ceased his hungry glancing for more. He was uncomplaining, with a
patience that was as terrible as the school in which it had been
learned. He finished his coffee, wiped his mouth on the back of his
hand, and started to rise.

"Wait a second," she said hastily. "I guess the loaf kin stand you
another slice--a thin un."

There was legerdemain in her actions. With all the seeming of cutting
a slice from the loaf for him, she put loaf and slice back in the bread
box and conveyed to him one of her own two slices. She believed she had
deceived him, but he had noted her sleight-of-hand. Nevertheless, he
took the bread shamelessly. He had a philosophy that his mother, because
of her chronic sickliness, was not much of an eater anyway.

She saw that he was chewing the bread dry, and reached over and emptied
her coffee cup into his.

"Don't set good somehow on my stomach this morning," she explained.

A distant whistle, prolonged and shrieking, brought both of them to
their feet. She glanced at the tin alarm-clock on the shelf. The hands
stood at half-past five. The rest of the factory world was just arousing
from sleep. She drew a shawl about her shoulders, and on her head put a
dingy hat, shapeless and ancient.

"We've got to run," she said, turning the wick of the lamp and blowing
down the chimney.

They groped their way out and down the stairs. It was clear and cold,
and Johnny shivered at the first contact with the outside air. The stars
had not yet begun to pale in the sky, and the city lay in blackness.
Both Johnny and his mother shuffled their feet as they walked. There was
no ambition in the leg muscles to swing the feet clear of the ground.

After fifteen silent minutes, his mother turned off to the right.

"Don't be late," was her final warning from out of the dark that was
swallowing her up.

He made no response, steadily keeping on his way. In the factory
quarter, doors were opening everywhere, and he was soon one of a