The door opened suddenly, and they saw an ill-furnished room, glaring with the sun reflected from its white walls. Two women stood just within the door. One was tall and spare, with gray streaks in her coal-black hair, and with piercing black eyes; the other was a comfortable body with a cheerful smile. "That's Mrs. O'Donough," said the doctor's guide--"the tall one. See the eyes of her now! The other's a neighbor woman, who's with her a good deal, she's that excitable." The doctor stepped into the room, and began once more to break the news. "This is Mrs. O'Donough, is it not?" he said. "I'm a doctor, and I am sorry to have to say there has been an accident, and Mr. O'Donough is--is under treatment." Here the driver and the man from the bakery brought in the stretcher. When the tall woman saw this she gripped the arm of the other and hissed out, "Is it _it_?" Then she turned her back on the body and sank her head on her friend's shoulder. The other woman made signs to the doctor to say little or nothing. The driver and the baker took a thin counterpane off the bed, which stood against the wall. Then they lifted the body from the stretcher to the bed, and covered it with the counterpane. The doctor did not know what to say in the face of the signals he was receiving from the widow's friend. "In case I can be of any assistance at any time," he suggested--and then Mrs. O'Donough lifted her head and looked at him with her burning eyes--"if I can be of service, do not hesitate to call on me. Here is my card." As he felt his way down-stairs again he heard a hand-organ break out suddenly into a strident waltz. When he came out into the street a few little children were dancing in couples, although most of them stood around the ambulance, gazing with morbid curiosity at the driver as he replaced the stretcher. At the door of the baker's shop stood a knot of women talking it over; but in the Chinese laundry the irons went back and forth steadily, with no interest in what might happen in the street outside. As the doctor took his seat in the vehicle a shriek came from the room he had just left--a shuddering, heartrending wail--then another--and then there was silence. The ambulance started forward, the bell clanged to clear the way, the horse broke into a trot, and in a minute or two they turned into the broad avenue. Then the driver looked at the doctor. "The widdy's takin' it harrd, I'm thinkin', but she'll get over it before the wake," he said. "An' it's good lungs she has, ennyhow." (1898) [Illustration: In a Bob-tail Car]