nry--how could she do it?" cried the woman.

He did not answer and they walked up a dingy street. A car came howling
by.

"Got car fare," he asked. She nodded.

"Well, I haven't," he said, "but I'm going with you."

They boarded the car. They were the only passengers. They sat down, and
he said, under the roar of the wheels:

"Violet--it's a shame--a damn shame, and I'm not going to stand for it.
This a Market Street car?" he asked the conductor who passed down the
aisle for their fares. The woman paid. When the conductor was gone,
Henry continued:

"Three kids and a mother robbed by a Judge who knew better--just to
stand in with the kept attorneys of the bar association. He could have
knocked the shenanigan, that killed Hogan, galley west, if he'd wanted
to, and no Supreme Court would have dared to set it aside. But no--the
kept lawyers at the Capital, and all the Capitals have a mutual
admiration society, and Tom has always belonged. So he turns you and all
like you on the street, and Violet, before God I'm going to try to help
you."

She looked at the slick, greasy, torn stiff hat, and the dirty, shiny
clothes that years ago had been his Sunday best, and the shaggy face and
the sallow, unwashed skin; and she remembered the man who was.

The car passed into South Harvey. She started to rise. "No," he said,
stopping her, "you come on with me."

"Where are we going?" she asked. He did not answer. She sat down.
Finally the car turned into Market Street. They got off at the bank
corner. The man took hold of the woman's arm, and led her to the alley.
She drew back.

He said: "Are you afraid of me--now, Violet?" They slinked down the
alley and seeing a light in the back room of a store, Fenn stopped and
went up to peer in.

"Come on," he said. "He's in."

Fenn tapped on the barred window and whistled three notes. A voice
inside cried, "All right, Henry--soon's I get this column added up."

The woman shrank back, but Fenn held her arm. Then the door opened, and
the moon face of Mr. Brotherton appeared in a flood of light. He saw the
woman, without recognizing her, and laughed:

"Are we going to have a party? Come right in, Marianna--here's the
moated Grange, all right, all right."

As they entered, he tried to see her face, but she dropped her head.
Fenn asked, "Why, George--don't you know her? It's Violet--Violet
Mauling--who married Denny Hogan who was killed last winter."

George Brotherton looked at