immie; he couldn't to-night,
he--couldn't."

Jimmie's lips drew back from his gums as though too dry to cover them.

"You--you street-runner, you!"

"Jimmie!"

"You--you--you--"

"For Gawd's sakes, she'll hear you, Jimmie!"

"You devil, you! You've killed her, I tell you! I've been holdin' her in
there for two hours, with the sweat standing out on her like
water--you--"

"Oh, Gawd! Jimmie, lemme run for old man Gibbs; lemme--"

"Oh no, you don't! Lizzie Marks down-stairs is gone for him--but that
ain't goin' to help none; what she wants is _you_--you and your low-down
sneaking friend; and she's goin' to have him, too."

"He's gone, Jimmie. What--"

"You can't come home here to-night without him--you can't! You better
run after him, and run after him quick. You can't come home here
to-night without him, I tell you! Whatta you going to do about it--huh?
Whatta you going to do? Quick! What?"

She trembled so she grasped the back of a chair for support, and tears
ricocheted down her cheeks.

"I can't, Jimmie! He's gone by now; he's gone by now--out of sight. I
can't! Please, Jimmie! I'll tell her! I'll tell her! Don't--don't you
dare come near me! I'll go, Jimmie--I'll go. 'Sh-h-h!"

"You gotta get him--you can't come here to-night without him. I ain't
goin' to stand for her not seeing him to-night. I--I don't care how you
get him, but you ain't going to kill her! You gotta get him, or I'll--"

"Jimmie--'sh-h-h!"

"Jimmie, tell him it ain't like me to give out like this. Tell--"

"Yes, ma."

"Yes, ma--we're comin'. Joe's waitin' down at the door. I'll run down
and bring him up; he--he's so bashful. In a minute, ma darlin'."

She flung open the door and fled, racing down two flights of stairs,
with her steps clattering after her in an avalanche, and out into a
quiet street, which sprung echoes of her flying feet.

After midnight every pedestrian becomes a simulacrum, wrapped in a black
domino of mystery and a starry ephod of romance. A homeward-bound
pedestrian is a faun in evening dress. Fat-and-forty leans from her
window to hurtle a can at a night-yelling cat and becomes a demoiselle
leaning out from the golden bar of Heaven.

In the inspissated gloom of the street occasional silhouettes hurried in
silent haste; and a block ahead of her, just emerging into a string of
shop lights, she could distinguish the uneven-shouldered outline of Joe
Ullman and the unmistakable silhouette of his slightly ask