he'd be killed and would leave her a widow. "He asked me to
promise never to get married again if he did marry me and died.
But,"--she leaned over my way--"that only meant if he died during the
war, ain't that so? Lookit how long the war was over before he died."

He was awful good to her after they got married. He took her to a show
every night--jes swell; and she had given him a swell funeral--you bet
she did. The coffin had cost eighty-five dollars--white with real
silver handles; and the floral piece she bought--"Gee! What's your
name?... Connie, you oughtta seen that floral piece!" and Mame laid
off work altogether to use her hands the better. It was shaped so, and
in the middle was a clock made out of flowers, with the hands at the
very minute and hour he'd died. (He passed away of a headache--very
sudden.) Then below, in clay, were two clasped hands--his and hers.
"Gee! Connie, you never seen nothin' so swell. Everybody seen it said
so."

Once he bought her a white evening dress, low neck, fish-tail train,
pearls all over the front--cost him one whole week's salary,
eighty-five dollars! She had diamond earrings and jewels worth at
least one thousand dollars. She had lovely clothes. Couldn't she just
put a black band around the arms and go on wearing them? She took a
look at my earrings. Gee! they were swell. She had some green ones
herself. Next morning she appeared in her widow's weeds with
bright-green earrings at least a quarter of an inch longer than mine.

From the first Mame clung to me morning and night. Usually mornings
she threw her arms around me in the dressing room. "Here's my Connie!"
I saw myself forced to labor in the brassworks for life because of
Mame's need of me. This need seemed more than spiritual. One day her
pocketbook with twelve dollars had been stolen in the Subway. I lent
her some cash. Another time she left her money at the factory. I lent
her the wherewithal to get home with, etc. One day I was not at work.
Somehow the other girls all were down on Mame. I have pondered much on
that. When it came to the needed collection Mame found it hard
pickings. She got a penny from this girl, another from that one, until
she had made up a nickel to get home with. Irish Minnie gave her a
sandwich and an apple. The girls all jumped on me: "The way you let
that Frenchie work ya! Gee! you believe everything anybody tells ya."

"But," says I, "she's been a widow only three weeks and I'm terrible
s