over all rested the penetrating,
sickening "tenement-house smell," not to be drowned by steam of washing
or scent of food. Norah's tongue was ready with the complaint all
tongues made in 1878--hard times; and she faced me now with hands on
her hips and a generally belligerent expression: "An' shure, ma'am, you
know yourself it's only a dollar a day he's been earnin' this many a
day, an' thankful enough to get that, wid Mike overhead wearin' his
tongue out wid askin' for work here an' there an' everywhere. An'
how'll we live on that, an' the rint due reg'lar, an' the agent poppin'
in his ugly face an' off wid the bit o' money, no matter how bare the
dish is? Bad cess to him! but I'd like to have him hungered once an'
know how it feels. If I hadn't the washin' we'd be on the street this
day."

"What do you live on, Norah?"

"Is it 'live'? Thin I could hardly say. It's mate an' petatys an' tea,
an' Pat will have his glass. He's sober enough--not like Mike, that's
off on his sprees every month; but now we don't be gettin' the same as
we used. Pat says there's that cravin' in him that only the whiskey 'll
stop. It's tin dollars a month for the rooms, an' that's two an' a half
a week steady; an' there's only seven an' a half left for the five
mouths that must be fed, an' the fire an' all, for I can't get more'n
the four dollars for me washin'. It's the mate you must have to put
strength in ye, an' Pat would be havin' it three times a day, an' now
it's but once he can; an' that's why he's after the whiskey. The
children an' meself has tay, an' it's all that keeps us up."

"How do you cook your meat, Norah?"

Norah looked at me suspiciously: "Shure, the bit we get don't take
long. I puts it in the pan an' lets it fry till we're ready. Poor folks
can't have much roastin' nor fine doin's. An' by that token it's time
it was on now, if you won't mind, ma'am. The children 'll be in from
school, an' they must eat an' get back."

"I am going in a few moments, Norah. Go right on."

Norah moved aside her boiler, drew a frying-pan from her closet, put in
a lump of fat and laid in a piece of coarse beef some two pounds in
weight. A loaf of bread came next, and was cut up, the peculiar white
indicating plainly what share alum had had in making the lightness to
which she called my attention. A handful of tea went into the tall tin
teapot, which was filled from the kettle at the back of the stove.

"That isn't boiling water, is it?"