The naivete of the question struck Fay as an indictment against society. “Because the laws are unjust!” he declared. “They keep a man in prison after he is reformed. They don’t keep a man in a hospital after he is cured.” “Did you escape from Rockglen?” “Would it make any difference to you if I had broken out of prison?” “No, it wouldn’t make any difference to me--but I don’t know what you mean.” “I mean I want you to go away with me. I want to get you out of this den of petty-larceny addicts and low-brows. That’s what your father wanted, Emily.” “But I don’t even know your name. Why should I run away with you?” “Because the Dropper is a brute. Because he will beat you--if he hasn’t already. Because the life here leads to the gutter--and mighty fast you’ll drift down to it, little Emily.” * * * * * The girl arranged a black velvet bandeau on her hair. Fay noticed that the rings on her fingers were brassy and childish. They grated on a man who had never handled any but first-water jewels. He leaned forward and suggested: “Come with me--say, to-morrow night. We’ll go East together. I know a motherly woman who has an old mansion on the Hudson.” Little Emily fluttered her lashes in an anxious glance at the open door, beyond which was the sound of dreamy voices. “I’m afraid I can’t.” “Why?” “He wont let me.” “What is he to you?” “Nothing, but I’m afraid of him. He’s so strong.” “He’s a big mush, little Emily--a woman-beater, a peddler of opium--a Fink, if you know what that means.” The girl pulled her dress down to the tops of her broken shoes. She twisted, glanced up, smiled faintly, and blanched as the Dropper thrust his head into the room. “What are you tryin’ to pull off?” he asked. Fay stared over the girl’s cringing shoulder. His steel-blue eyes locked with the brute’s. They burned and blazed into a sodden brain. The Dropper leered, said, “Oh, all right, cul,” and went back to the smokers around the lay-out tray. “Quick, Emily! Make up your mind. Can I come for you to-morrow night? I owe it to your old man. We’ll go East, and this woman I know will take care of you. I hate the coppers, and I’m out to collect from the world. They sent me away to Rockglen--dead, bang wrong! They gave me life and fifteen years. I didn’t serve fifteen weeks!” Fay ceased pleading. He watched the girl. There was a mark behind her left ear which could only have come from a blow. She fingered a black velvet bandeau. She clenched her hands. She started to rise. Suddenly she dropped to the chair. “I can’t go--even if Dad wants me to. I can’t leave the Dropper. I am afraid he’ll kill me if I go away with you.” “He’s got you cowed!” “I can’t help it.” “And you slave for him--work for him--touch his hand when he calls for you?” “I do. You don’t understand my position.” “It’s an outrage. Poor Charley O’Mara’s daughter held in the clutches of that beast!”