And then one afternoon, when she could scarcely endure the strain longer—her father demanding: “What is the matter with you, anyhow? Do you know what you’re doing half the time? Is there anything wrong between you and that beau of yours? I see he doesn’t come around any more. It is time that you either married or had nothing more to do with him, anyway. I don’t want any silly nonsense between you and him, you know.” And this effected the very decision which she had most dreaded. Now ... now ... she must act. This evening—at least she must see him again and tell him that she was going to see his father and reveal all—furthermore, that if he did not marry her she would kill him and herself. Show him the gun, maybe, and frighten him with it—if she could—but at any rate make a last plea as well as a threat. If only—if only he would listen this time—not turn on her—become frightened, maybe, and help her,—not curse—or drive her away. There was the coal-yard of his father that was at the end of an inlet giving into the river. Or his own home. She might go first to the coal office. He would be sure to be leaving there at half past five, or at six he would be nearing his home. At seven or half past departing from that again very likely to see—to see—whom? But best—best to go to the coal office first. He would be coming from there alone. It would be the quickest. And Hauptwanger coming out of the coal office on this particular evening in the mood and with the air of one with whom all was well. But in the windy dusk of this November evening, arc lights blazing in the distance, the sound of distant cars, distant life, the wind whipping crisp leaves along the ground—the figure of a girl—a familiar cape about her shoulders, suddenly emerging from behind a pile of brick he was accustomed to pass. “Ed! I want to talk to you a minute.” “You again! What the hell did I tell you? I ain’t got no time to talk to you, and I won’t! What did I....”