nterrupted.

Behind her the speaker had partly emerged from the darkness. No
workingman, Saxon could see that--lower in the world scale, despite his
good clothes, than any workingman.

"I'm comin', if you'll only wait a second," Mary placated.

And by her answer and its accents Saxon knew that Mary was afraid of
this man who prowled on the rim of light.

Mary turned to her.

"I got to beat it; good bye," she said, fumbling in the palm of her
glove.

She caught Saxon's free hand, and Saxon felt a small hot coin pressed
into it. She tried to resist, to force it back.

"No, no," Mary pleaded. "For old times. You can do as much for me some
day. I'll see you again. Good bye."

Suddenly, sobbing, she threw her arms around Saxon's waist, crushing
the feathers of her hat against the load of wood as she pressed her
face against Saxon's breast. Then she tore herself away to arm's length,
passionate, queering, and stood gazing at Saxon.

"Aw, get a hustle, get a hustle," came from the darkness the peremptory
voice of the man.

"Oh, Saxon!" Mary sobbed; and was gone.

In the house, the lamp lighted, Saxon looked at the coin. It was a
five-dollar piece--to her, a fortune. Then she thought of Mary, and
of the man of whom she was afraid. Saxon registered another black mark
against Oakland. Mary was one more destroyed. They lived only five
years, on the average, Saxon had heard somewhere. She looked at the coin
and tossed it into the kitchen sink. When she cleaned the clams, she
heard the coin tinkle down the vent pipe.

It was the thought of Billy, next morning, that led Saxon to go under
the sink, unscrew the cap to the catchtrap, and rescue the five-dollar
piece. Prisoners were not well fed, she had been told; and the thought
of placing clams and dry bread before Billy, after thirty days of prison
fare, was too appalling for her to contemplate. She knew how he liked
to spread his butter on thick, how he liked thick, rare steak fried on a
dry hot pan, and how he liked coffee that was coffee and plenty of it.

Not until after nine o'clock did Billy arrive, and she was dressed in
her prettiest house gingham to meet him. She peeped on him as he came
slowly up the front steps, and she would have run out to him except
for a group of neighborhood children who were staring from across the
street. The door opened before him as his hand reached for the knob,
and, inside, he closed it by backing against it, for his arms were
f