And he began to whistle a light-hearted ditty. Rachel might just as well have gone to Jake Goldfogle and have asked him, for the same reasons, not to drive her cousin so hard. She might just as well have asked you or me to pay a decent price for our clothes. Harry Klein, just like Mr. Goldfogle--just like you and me--needed the money. "Where's 'Blow Away'?" he asked, interrupting his whistling. "He's asleep," Rachel said. "Well--we'll wake him up." They turned down a side street. "Jake," Rachel began again, "I'll find you some other girl--I'll do anything for you. Oh, Jake, please." "Shut up," he growled. "Tell your troubles to a policeman." They went up three flights of dirty stairs to a door which Rachel opened with a latch-key. It gave on a long hall. Turning to the left, they entered a parlor fitted out with cheap plush furniture. The windows were closed, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke--all the varied stenches of a debauch. "Wake him up," Jake ordered. Rachel turned down the hall and opened a bedroom door. The air was even worse than in the parlor. A thin-chested youth of twenty-eight or so was asleep, lying across the bed on his face. The butt of a pistol stuck out of his hip pocket. His coat and vest and shirt were on the back of a chair, his shoes on the floor. "Charlie," Rachel called. There was no response. She approached the bed cautiously and gave a pull at his foot, jumping back out of reach as soon as she had touched him. There were a couple of angry grunts. "Charlie," she called again. He sat up with a roar of profanity. "How many times have I told you to leave me alone when I'm sleeping? I'll break your dirty face for you." "Jake's in the front room," she interrupted him. "Wants to see you." "Jake?" He lowered the hand he had raised to strike her. "What in Hell does he want?" "How do I know?" "You never know nothing," he growled sourly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shuffled down the hall in his stocking feet. When the great ones of the earth are waiting, you cannot stop to put on shoes. "Hello, Blow Away," Jake said. "I've got something to say to you. Your bundle"--he indicated Rachel--"steered me up to a honey bunch this afternoon, named Yetta Rayefsky. The little doll took my eye. See? She's Ray's cousin. I just want you to explain to her--as a favor to me--that she mustn't butt in. The less talking she does with her mouth the better it'll be. You'd better impress it on her, so she won't forget? See?" Charlie--alias Blow Away--saw. And Rachel saw. She cowered down in a corner and promised not to warn Yetta--if only they would not beat her. But it was a basic belief of these two gentlemen that "a beating is never wasted on a woman."... It was from this time that Rachel began to kill herself with "booze." She did not like to remember how she had betrayed Yetta. And drink helped her to forget.