such fervor that in
two months he had run through it all and killed himself by his excesses.
Miss Mahoney's was the first bank account in the alley, and, so far as I
know, the last.

From what I have said, it must not be supposed that fighting was the
normal occupation of Cat Alley. It was rather its relaxation from
unceasing toil and care, from which no to-morrow held promise of relief.
There was a deal of good humor in it at most times. "Scrapping" came
naturally to the alley. When, as was sometimes the case, it was the
complement of a wake, it was as the mirth of children who laugh in the
dark because they are afraid. But once an occurrence of that sort
scandalized the tenants. It was because of the violation of the Monroe
Doctrine, to which, as I have said, the alley held most firmly, with
severely local application. To Mulberry Street Mott Street was a foreign
foe from which no interference was desired or long endured. A tenant in
"the back" had died in the hospital of rheumatism, a term which in the
slums sums up all of poverty's hardships, scant and poor food, damp
rooms, and hard work, and the family had come home for the funeral. It
was not a pleasant home-coming. The father in his day had been strict,
and his severity had driven his girls to the street. They had landed in
Chinatown, with all that implies, one at a time; first the older and
then the younger, whom the sister took under her wing and coached. She
was very handsome, was the younger sister, with an innocent look in her
blue eyes that her language belied, and smart, as her marriage-ring bore
witness to. The alley, where the proprieties were held to tenaciously,
observed it and forgave all the rest, even her "Chink" husband. While
her father was lying ill, she had spent a brief vacation in the alley.
Now that he was dead, her less successful sister came home, and with her
a delegation of girls from Chinatown. In their tawdry finery they walked
in, sallow and bold, with Mott Street and the accursed pipe written all
over them, defiant of public opinion, yet afraid to enter except in a
body. The alley considered them from behind closed blinds, while the
children stood by silently to see them pass. When one of them offered
one of the "kids" a penny, he let it fall on the pavement, as if it were
unclean. It was a sore thrust, and it hurt cruelly; but no one saw it in
her face as she went in where the dead lay, with scorn and hatred as her
offering.

The