They clatter on in this way and gradually it comes out in good order. This coal-heaver knows a widow in the next block. He is either in love with her or she is in love with him, and sometimes she comes here into Thirty-ninth Street to catch a glimpse of him. He has been seen with her a number of times and had been in the habit of driving his coal-wagon through Fortieth Street in order to catch a glimpse of her. His wife has frequently complained, of course, and there have been rows, bitter nocturnal wrangles, in which he has not come off triumphant. He has sworn and raved and struck his wife but he has been made to promise not to drive through Fortieth Street just the same. This day, however, he failed to keep this injunction. She was in Fortieth Street and had seen him, then had come home and in a fit of jealous rage and affectionate distemper had drunk a bottle of camphor. The husband is not home yet. While we are still patiently awaiting him he arrives, dark, heavy, unprepared for the difficulty awaiting him, and very much astonished at the company gathered about his door. “My wife!” he exclaims when told. “Yes, your wife.” This from several members of the company. He hurries in, very shaken and frightened. “What is this?” he demands as he passes the door and is confronted by serious-looking physicians. More we could not hear. But after a time out he comes for something at the drugstore, then in again. He is in and out two or three times, and finally, before the assembled company and in explanation, wrings his hands. “I never done nothin’ to make her do this. I never done nothin’.” He pauses, awaiting a denial, possibly, from some one, then adds: “The disgrace! I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t for the disgrace!” I meet Mrs. Schmick the next day in the hall. She has been indefatigable in her labors. “Will she die?” “No, she gets better now.” “Is he going to behave himself?” She shrugs her shoulders, lifts up her hands dubiously. “Mrs. Schmick,” I ask, interestedly, her philosophy of life arresting me, “why do you work so hard? You didn’t even know her, did you?” “Ach, no. But she is sick now. She is in trouble. I would do as much for anybody.” And this is Hell’s Kitchen, I recall. * * * * *