hing to say and, after a pause, Janet continued more
quietly:

"It's this way, Rosie: You know my old man. He's all right except
sometimes when he comes home not quite himself. You know what I mean."

Yes, Rosie knew. In fact, like the rest of the world, she knew a great
deal more than Janet supposed about Dave McFadden's drunken abuse of his
wife and child.

"He's all right when he's straight, Rosie, honest he is."

Never before had Janet confessed in words, even to Rosie, that her
father wasn't always sober. It was the fiction of life that she
struggled most valiantly to maintain that this same father was the best
and noblest of his kind. Poor Janet! In spite of herself Rosie
experienced a pang of the old pity which thought of Janet's hard life
always excited. But Janet was not striving to appeal to her thus. Slowly
and painfully she was forcing herself to lay bare the little tragedy
that shadowed her days....

"When he comes home that way he says awful things to me. He says I got a
face like a horse and arms as long as a monkey's. He'd never think of
things like that if it wasn't for Aunt Kitty. You know he thinks
everything Aunt Kitty says is wonderful because she's supposed to be the
bright one of the family and used to be pretty. And, Rosie, she ain't
got a bit o' sense. All she can do is make people laugh by making fun of
somebody. She never cares how much she hurts any one's feelings. I--I
know I'm ugly, but--can I help it?..." Janet's face was quivering and
her eyes were swimming in tears. "I don't see why Aunt Kitty's got to
talk about it, do you? Even if I am ugly, I guess--I guess I got
feelings like anybody else.... It's only when dad's full that he starts
in on it and begins to yell around until everybody in the building hears
him. And I know just as well he'd never think of it if only Aunt Kitty
would let up on me a little. So I thought---- Oh, you understand now,
don't you, Rosie? That's the reason I did it, honest it is. You believe
me, Rosie, don't you?"

Believe her? Who wouldn't believe her? Long before she had finished
speaking, the citadel of Rosie's affections had been stormed and retaken
and Rosie, abject and conquered, was ready to cry for mercy.

"And when I told Jarge Riley about it," Janet continued, "he was just as
nice. He pretended he wanted to kiss me anyhow, but he didn't, Rosie,
honest he didn't. It was only because I was your friend that he wanted
to be nice to me...."

Of co