be untied. It
was not the least sore point with Adam that he had untied it himself.
They were doing well enough, he and his wife, in their home in
Leinbach, Austria, keeping a little grocery store, and living humbly
but comfortably, when word of the country beyond the sea where much
money was made, and where every man was as good as the next, made them
uneasy and discontented. In the end they gave up the grocery and their
little home, Hansche not without some tears; but she dried them
quickly at the thought of the good times that were waiting. With these
ever before them they bore the hardships of the steerage, and in good
season reached Hester Street and the longed-for haven, only to
find--this. A rear basement, dark and damp and unwholesome, for which
the landlord, along with the privilege of keeping a stand in the
street, which was not his to give, made them pay twelve dollars a
month. Truly, much money was made in America, but not by those who
paid the rent. It was all they could do, working early and late, he
with his push-cart and at his stand, she with the needle, slaving for
the sweater, to get the rent together and keep a roof over the head
of little Abe.

Five years they had kept that up, and things had gone from bad to
worse. The police blackmail had taken out of it what little profit
there was in the push-cart business. Times had grown harder than they
ever were in Hester Street. To cap it all, two weeks ago gas had begun
to leak into the basement from somewhere, and made Hansche sick, so
that she dropped down at her work. Adam had complained to the
landlord, and he had laughed at him. What did he want for twelve
dollars, anyway? If the basement wasn't good enough for him, why
didn't he hire an upstairs flat? The landlord did not tell him that he
could do that for the same rent he paid for the miserable hole he
burrowed in. He had a good thing and he knew it. Adam Grunschlag knew
nothing of the Legal Aid Society, that is there to help such as he. He
was afraid to appeal to the police. He was just a poor, timid Jew, of
a race that has been hunted for centuries to make sport and revenue
for the great and mighty. When he spoke of moving and the landlord
said that he would forfeit the twenty dollars deposit that he had held
back all these years, and which was all the capital the pedler had, he
thought that was the law, and was silent. He could not afford to lose
it, and yet he must find some way of making a cha