Within her own room, a second-floor-back, augmented slightly by an immaculate layout of pink-celluloid toilet articles and a white water-pitcher of three pink carnations, Miss Hoag snapped on her light where it dangled above the celluloid toilet articles. A summer-bug was bumbling against the ceiling; it dashed itself between Miss Hoag and her mirror, as she stood there breathing from the climb and looking back at herself with salt-bitten eyes, mouth twitching. Finally, after an inanimate period of unseeing stare, she unhooked the long cape, brushing it, and, ever dainty of self, folding it across a chair-back. A voluminous garment, fold and fold upon itself, but sheer and crisp dimity, even streaming a length of pink ribbon, lay across the bed-edge. Miss Hoag took it up, her hand already slowly and tiredly at the business of unfettering herself of the monstrous red silk. Came a sudden avalanche of knocking and a rattling of door-knob, the voice of Mrs. Bostrum. landlady, high with panic. "Teenie! Jastrow's dyin' in his room! He's yellin' for you! For God's sakes--quick--down in his room!" In the instant that followed, across the sudden black that blocked Miss Hoag of vision, there swam a million stars. "Teenie! For God's sakes--quick! He's yellin' for you--" "Coming, Mrs. Bostrum--coming--coming--coming!" In a dawn that came up as pink as the palm of a babe, but flowed rather futilely against the tired, speckled eye of incandescent bulb dangling above the Granite Jaw's rumpled, tumbled bed of pain, a gray-looking group stood in whispered conference beside a slit of window that overlooked a narrow clapboard slit of street. THE DOCTOR: Even with recovery, he will be on his back at least six months. MISS HOAG: Oh, my God! Doctor! THE DOCTOR: Has the man means? THE BARON: Not a penny. He only came to the concession two months ago from a row with the Flying-Fish Troupe. He's in debt already to half the exhibit. THE LANDLADY: He's two weeks in arrears. Not that I'm pestering the poor devil now, but Gawd knows I--need-- THE DOCTOR: Any relatives or friends to consult about the operation? MISS HOAG (_turning and stooping_): 'Ain't you got no relations or friends, Jastrow? What was it you hollered about the aerial-wonder act? Are they friends of yours? 'Ain't you got no relatives, no--no friends, maybe, that you could stay with awhile? Sid? Who's he? 'Ain't you, Jastrow, got no relations? The figure under the sheet, pain-huddled, limb-twisted, turned toward the wall, palm slapping out against it. "Hell!" said Jastrow, the Granite Jaw. THE DOCTOR (_drawing down his shirt-sleeves_): I'll have an ambulance around in twenty minutes. MISS HOAG: Where for, Doctor? THE DOCTOR: Brooklyn Public Institute, for the present. THE LANDLADY (_apron up over her head_): Poor fellow! Poor handsome fellow! MISS HOAG: No, Doctor. No! No! No! THE DOCTOR (_rather tiredly_): Sorry, madam, but there is no alternative.