On my asking if her soldier son were her only child, I learned that she had one other living, a boy of twelve. Her husband “worked for the city,” got thirty dollars a week. But what was that to support a family on. Seemed like a rich city like New York oughter be able to pay better wages. Also it seemed like the government oughter pay more to the family of soldiers, to make up for taking them away. Her son, besides making good money as a plumber, was “in politics” for weeks before and during elections; he more than doubled his wages by working evenings. As I was taking my leave she had the grace to apologize for her “things bein’ strewed around.” She used to take pleasure in her flat, she assured me, but now that the house had run down so there was no use wearing herself out trying to keep things up. “What caused the house to go down so?” I inquired, glancing around the well-swept hall and stairs. “Jews,” she replied, indicating the flat above her own. “I done let the janitor know what I think of her, takin’ dirty Jews in the house with decent Christians.” Because of Eleanor I have a soft spot in my heart for Jews. Eleanor was my desk-mate during my first two years in the high school. She was a few years older than I, indeed I looked upon her as quite a young lady; but I thought then, and I never have changed my mind, that she was one of the loveliest and most beautiful girls I have ever known. No one could object to living in the house with Eleanor. Once when living in a New York hotel I had seen three persons, unmistakably gentle people, turned away—told there were no rooms. After they left, the room-clerk smirkingly remarked on the gall of “such people,” thinking they’d slip in, when they knew that hotel never took Jews. The Sea Foam, I was told by the head waiter, would let every room stand empty before taking in Jews. Recalling all this I determined to see the Jew whose coming had caused this tenement-house to deteriorate so hopelessly that a dirty-faced Irishwoman should lose heart and ambition. Though the janitor had told me that the dog on the third floor had a license, I climbed the stairs. The man who opened the door might have stepped from the pages of an old illustrated Bible. He was small, old, and slightly bent. He had a long gray beard, wore a black skull-cap, and heavy horn-rimmed spectacles rested on the bridge of his long hooked nose. The dressing-gown which he wore over his coat had a purple lining. On learning my business he invited me in—oh, I must come in and see their dog, their grandson’s dog. The flat contained three rooms, an alcove, and a tiny hall. In the front room, at the end of the tiny hall, I found the old man’s mate, and like him she might have stepped fresh from the pages of an ancient Bible.