. They had always
been spenders, both of them, and they hadn't so very much money put by,
so, just to keep things together while dad was idle, ma began going out
to work. She's a fine cleaner and laundress, so of course she could
always get good places. Then, after dad got well, she kept on working
because they were in debt and then--I don't know how it happened--the
first thing ma knew dad was drinking up his money and she's been working
ever since. He used to pay the rent but he don't even do that any more."

Janet talked on as she had never talked before. Not much of what she
said was new to Rosie, for the private life of the poor is lived in
public, and Mrs. Finnegan has no need to explain to the neighbours the
little commotion that took place in her rooms the night before, since
the neighbours have all along known as much about it as herself. What
Rosie had not known before was Janet's real attitude toward her father.
Janet's likes had always seemed to Rosie a little fearsome in their
intensity; her hate, as Rosie saw it now, was appalling. Compared to
Janet's feelings, Rosie's own appeared childish, almost babyish. If
brought to trial, she would, no doubt, have fought for them, but like a
kitten rather than a tiger. In Janet the tiger was already well grown.

Listening to Janet, Rosie shuddered. "I wish you wouldn't talk that way,
Janet. It's kind of murderous!"

"Murderous?" Janet repeated. "What if it is? That's just how I feel
sometimes. Right now when I think of ma lying there in the hospital, for
two cents I'd go upstairs and choke him to death! What would it matter,
anyway, if he never woke up? Just one less drunkard in the world--that's
all. I guess there'd be plenty enough of them left."

Rosie held out imploring hands. "Janet, if you keep on talking like that
I'll have to go home! I'll be too scared to sleep with you!"

Janet was contrite. "Aw, now, Rosie, don't say that. I'm only talking,
and I won't even talk any more tonight. Anyhow, it's time for bed."

The McFadden home consisted of two rooms: a front living room and a
small back bedroom. The living room was everything its name implied: it
had in it sink, wash-tub, stove, eating table, and the bed where Janet
and her mother slept. The little back room, lighted and ventilated from
a shaft, was where Dave slept.

The sound of him and the smell of him filled both rooms and seemed to
rush out into the hallway as Janet and Rosie pushed open the door