“10 Clark Street.”
“Did you know him?”
The others had gathered around. One of them said:
“Tobin licked him.”
The first seemed to think more than ordinary justice should be done a person with a funeral, and admitted that Tobin had licked him.
No. 10 Clark Street was a door between a clothing shop and a livery stable. The stairway led up into darkness. On the third landing a door stood open, showing a low room. A painted coffin rested on two chairs. Three or four women sat about with their hands on their knees. One of them was Mrs. Tobin.
“Funeral's over,” she said, placidly.
The clergyman from the mission had come and gone. They were waiting for the city undertaker. But they seemed glad of an interruption and looked at me with silent interest.
“I want to ask you to tell me something about him, Mrs. Tobin.”
Mrs. Tobin reflected. “There ain't nothin'.”