The benches in Our Square have seen more life than most. They have cradled weariness of body and spirit; they have assuaged grief and given refuge to shaking terror, and been visited by Death. They have shivered to the passion of cursing men and weeping women. But never before had any of their ilk heard grown young manhood blubber. Neither had Mayme McCartney. It inspired her with mingled emotions, the most immediate of which was a desire to laugh. Accordingly she laughed. The intruder lifted a woeful face, gave her one vague look, and reverted to his former posture. Mayme stopped laughing. She advanced and put a friendly hand on one of the humped shoulders. "Cheer up, Buddy," she said. "It ain't as bad as you think it is." "It's worse," gulped a choky voice. Then the head lifted again. "Who are you?" it demanded. "I'm your big sister," said Mayme reassuringly. "Tell a feller about it." The response was neither polite nor explanatory. "D---n sisters!" said the bencher. "Oh, tutt-_tutt_ and naughty-naughty!" rebuked Mayme. "Somebody's sister been puttin' somethin' over on poor little Willy?" "My own sister has." He was in that state of semi-hysterical exhaustion in which revelation of one's intimate troubles to the first comer seems natural. "She's gone and got arrested," he wailed. Mayme's face became grave and practical. "That's different," said she. "What's her lay?" "Lay? I don't know--" "What's her line? What's she done to get pinched?" "Shoplifting. At the special night sale of the Emporium." "You're tellin' me! In the silks, huh?" "What do you know about it? My God! Is it in the papers already?" "Keep your hair on, Buddy. I work there, and I heard about that pinch. Swell young married lady. Say," she added, after a thoughtful pause: "has she got somethin' comin'?" "Something coming? How? What?" "Don't be dumb. A kid." He stared. She was looking at him with unabashed frankness. Those who live in the close, rough intimacy of the slums do not cherish false shame about the major facts of life. "Suppose she has?" queried the youth sulkily. "Why, that'll be all right, you poor boob," returned the kindly Mayme. "The judge'll let her off with a warning." "How do you know?" "They always do. Those cases are common. Dolan ought to be canned for makin' a pinch of a lady in the fam'ly way." "What if they do let her off?" lamented the youth. "It'll be in all the papers and I'll be ruined. My life's spoiled. I might as well leave the city." "Ah, don't do a mean trick like that to the old town!" besought the sardonic Mayme. "Where do you come in to get hurt?"