“Oh, hell!” Martin’s tone was one of deep disgust and he waved his hand in a bored fashion. “Le’s go have somethin’, then,” suggested Daily, “don’t stand here in the damp.” “Go on home, Bella,” commanded Martin, addressing the woman on the steps. “What are ye doin’ around here, anyway? Youse must t’ink I’m a chump, don’t ye, to have youse follyin’ me up this way.” “Just a minute, Mart,” pleaded Bella: “I won’t be longer than a minute, so help me God!” “Ah, git away from me!” “_Mart!_” “Go on, Kelly,” said Daily; “don’t talk to a bundle o’ skirts that way. See what she wants; we’ll wait for youse at Mintzers.” Daily and Foley cut across the street to where the lights of a saloon flared redly through the mist; Martin and the girl started up the street, slowly. She gave one upward glance at the windows of the hall, and sighed to see the dancers whirl gayly by. That was of the bright past; and the future was black enough for her. Chapter XII “_When we were lovers, you were my downfall, Now I am sneered at and jeered at by all._” SONGS OF THE CURB. IT was the season of rains, and the great sewer that drains the northwestern section of the city had burst again, and with its collapse sunk a goodly part of two streets at the junction of Germantown Avenue and Third Street. Gartenheim was doing the repairing as he had often done before; great heaps of brick and timber lay about the break in the street; a donkey engine, shrouded in a canvas covering loomed up spectre like in the fog; from the small windows of the tool shanty crept a pale flare of light; and a man could be seen within, bent over a mass of papers and time-books. Martin and Bella paused at the foot of a broken spile-driver. “It’s our Dick,” breathed Bella. “Let’s go some other way.” “Oh, come on! What’s the matter with ye. He won’t see ye.” “I ain’t a-goin’ apast! He’d never let me hear the last of it if he seen me out so late.” “Well, speak yer piece, here. What d’ye want to say?” “You know well enough what it is.” “Say, is it that same old cry? Youse make me tired!” “I don’t care! I on’y want you to do right by me; you promised you would.” Martin laughed. Bella’s face was pale, and the damp, penetrating mist made her shiver; a single, heavy drop of water was falling from a height upon her umbrella, with a measured beat that kept time with the pulsation of her heart. “I didn’t promise nothin’,” said he. “D’ye take me for a gilly?” “But ye must!” she cried, desperately. “If ye don’t, what’ll I do?” “Damn’f I know. But ye don’t tie me up in the t’ing, I know that.” “You on’y think of yourself! What’ll Dick say? What’ll everybody say? I can’t face it, Mart; I can’t face it!” She began to sob huskily; Martin prodded a stone with the toe of his shoe and reflected; he whistled a few bars from a popular song to convey an impression of carelessness; nevertheless he was troubled. “Well,” said he at length; “what are ye goin’ to do?”