“How often has she promised to break it off?” demanded he staring at the flickering flame. “A hundred times if she’s done it once.” Here the match sputtered and went out, and he threw the pipe angrily from him, smashing it to fragments upon the floor. “It was jist like that, though,” he said. “She broke ’em all! She’ll do anyt’ing to get rum. Look at last week when I was invited to Gartenheim’s sister’s weddin’! When I got home from work I hadn’t a rag to put on me back; she’d lifted ’em, and soaked ’em all at Rosenbaum’s hock shop.” And bitterly he went over the long list of drink-inspired acts that had made his life so hard to live, and with a sense of despair he looked at the poor bare room, and contrasted it with the comfortable home that he could have supported had all been right. The thought came, too, of Gartenheim’s bright snug home, of the gas-lit parlour on the Sunday night when last he had been there, of the boss’s flaxen-haired niece, and of how she had sung the “Holy City” for him in deep, rich, contralto voice. Then came darker thoughts, and he sat down staring vacantly into the fire. Bella watched him in silence, listening to the tick of the little nickel clock, and petulantly frowning at the bother of it all. “I think I’ll go to bed,” she said, at last. She opened the stair door and was about to ascend when she felt her brother’s hand upon her shoulder. “I oughtn’t to say this maybe,” said he, slowly, “but if yer mother can’t tell ye--why I must. I hope yer a good girl Bella; but I see youse with Mart Kelly often, and a girl can’t hold her head up long if she sticks to sich people as him. Break it off! Break it off, I tell ye, for he’s no good.” He looked steadily into her frightened face for a moment and then turned away. “Good night,” said he. He heard the clock strike every hour through the long night, but still he sat there struggling under the weight of his cross. Chapter XI “_Oh! There was a social party, Of Repubs and Democrats; Met at Michael Casey’s, And put away their hats, One ticket gave a lady, Admittance and her grub, Invited by the committee, Of the Casey Social Club._” POPULAR SONG. THE entrance to the hall was a-glitter with gas lights; freshly barbered young men in high collars and sack coats stood about the doorway, smoking cigarettes and spitting on the steps. A wagon was unloading kegs of beer at a side door; people flocked into the smoky entry; now and then a hired hack would pull up at the curb and a member of the club would hand his sweetheart out and up the steps. Four policemen, engaged at three dollars a head to keep order, stood on the sidewalk counting the ingoing kegs. “Forty quarters, all told,” said a pock-marked officer, lifting his huge shoulders. “Whew! The club’ll have a neat wad to put away if they sell all that! An’ just look at the people goin’ in!”