tary eye. She wondered about Snooky; but she
knew better than to ask. So she waited. The Young Wife next door had
told her husband all about that awful night--had told him with tears
and sobs. The Very Young Husband had been very, very angry with
her--angry, he said, and astonished! Snooky could not have been so
sick! Look at her now! As well as ever. And to have called such a
woman! Well, he did not want to be harsh; but she must understand that
she must never speak to the woman again. Never!

So the next day the Very Young Wife happened to go by with the Young
Husband. Blanche Devine spied them from her sitting-room window, and
she made the excuse of looking in her mailbox in order to go to the
door. She stood in the doorway and the Very Young Wife went by on the
arm of her husband. She went by--rather white-faced--without a look or
a word or a sign!

And then this happened! There came into Blanche Devine's face a look
that made slits of her eyes, and drew her mouth down into an ugly,
narrow line, and that made the muscles of her jaw tense and hard. It
was the ugliest look you can imagine. Then she smiled--if having one's
lips curl away from one's teeth can be called smiling.

Two days later there was great news of the white cottage on the corner.
The curtains were down; the furniture was packed; the rugs were rolled.
The wagons came and backed up to the house and took those things that
had made a home for Blanche Devine. And when we heard that she had
bought back her interest in the House with the Closed Shutters, near
the freight depot, we sniffed.

"I knew she wouldn't last!" we said.

"They never do!" said we.

The Gay Old Dog [1917]

Those of you who have dwelt--or even lingered--in Chicago, Illinois,
are familiar with the region known as the Loop. For those others of
you to whom Chicago is a transfer point between New York and California
there is presented this brief explanation:

The Loop is a clamorous, smoke-infested district embraced by the iron
arms of the elevated tracks. In a city boasting fewer millions, it
would be known familiarly as downtown. From Congress to Lake Street,
from Wabash almost to the river, those thunderous tracks make a
complete circle, or loop. Within it lie the retail shops, the
commercial hotels, the theaters, the restaurants. It is the Fifth
Avenue and the Broadway of Chicago.

And he who frequents it by night in search of amusement and cheer