"I just keeled over like a tenpin--that's all! It came on so sudden--while I was sellin' a dame a dollar-ninety-eight hipless--that even old Higgs was scared and went up to the emergency-room with me hisself." "Oh, Angie--ain't that a shame, now!" Tillie linked her arm in the older woman's and, with their joint umbrella slanted against the fine-ribbed rain, they plunged into the surge of the street. Wind scudded the rain along the sidewalks; electric signs, all blurred and streaky through the mist, were dimmed, like gas-light seen through tears. "We better ride home to-night, Angie--you with one of your spells, and this weather and all." "You must 'a' been clipping your gilt-edge bonds this afternoon instead of sellin' buttons! It would take more'n only a bad heart and a rainstorm and a pair of thin soles to make me ride five blocks." "I--I'll take your turn to-night for fixin' supper. You ain't feelin' well, Angie--I'll take your turn to-night." They turned into a high-walled, black, cross-town street. The wind turned with them and beat javelin-like against their backs and blew their skirts forward, then shifted and blew against their breathing. "Gawd!" said the older woman, lowering their umbrella against the onslaught. "Honest, sometimes I wish I wuz dead and out of it. Whatta we get out of livin', anyway?" "Aw, Angie!" "I do wish it!" They leaned into the wind. "I--I don't mind rain much. Me and Mame and George are going to the Gem to-night--they're showing the airship pictures over there. I ain't goin' unless you're feelin' all right, though. They've got the swellest pictures in town over there." "It's much you care about leavin' me alone or not when you can run round nights like a--like a--" "Don't begin, Angie. A girl's got to have fun once in a while! Gee! the way you been holding on to me! I--I ain't even met the fellows like the other girls. All you think I like to do is sit home nights and sew. Look at the other girls. Look at Mamie Plute--she's five years younger'n me--only twenty-three; and she--" "That's the thanks I get for protectin' and watchin' and raisin' and--" "Aw, Angie, I--" "Don't Angie me!" "I--I ain't a kid--the way you fuss at me!" They turned into their apartment house. A fire-escape ran zigzag down its front, and on each side of the entrance ash-cans stood sentinel. At each landing of their four flights up a blob of gas-light filled the hallway with dim yellow fog, and from the cracks of closed doors came the heterogeneous smells of steam, hot vapors, and damp--the intermittent crying of children. After the first and second flights Miss Angie paused and leaned against the wall. Her breath came from between her dry lips like pants from an engine, and beneath her eyes the parchment skin wrinkled and hung in small sacs like those under the eyes of a veteran pelican. "You take your time comin', Angie. I'll go ahead and light up and put on some coffee for you--some real hot coffee."