Tommy’s father turned off Rivington Street into a narrow lane, little more than an alley, but it contained tall buildings nevertheless, with the inevitable fire escape decorating the fronts. He paused in front of a pawnbroker’s shop, which was some feet below the level of the sidewalk. Dorothy, too, paused, leaning on the iron fence. The man was smiling an irresponsible, foolish smile as he descended the steps to the pawnshop. Dorothy peered down into the badly-lighted shop, and saw Tommy’s father lay an ancient watch chain, the last remaining article of the glory of his young manhood, on the counter.
The clerk behind the counter threw it back in disgust. Again Tommy’s father offered it, but the pawnbroker would not take it, for it was evidently not worth space in his cases. The man stumbled up the steps, and Dorothy met him face to face on the top one.
“I need a watch chain,” she heard herself saying in desperation, “I’ll buy it, please.”
“You’re the woman as was collecting the rent; eh?” he said.
“Oh, no,” said Dorothy, smiling brightly, “I came to see Tommy’s mother, and his father. I wanted to know Tommy’s family.”
“You wanted to help the boy, maybe?” he asked, his attention at last arrested.
“Yes,” replied Dorothy, eagerly, “I want to do something. I have money with me now, and I’ll buy the chain.”
The man suddenly turned and went on ahead. He wasn’t a really desperate man, but Dorothy did not know just what state it could be called, he simply seemed unable to think quite clearly, and after walking one block, Dorothy decided he had forgotten her entirely.
“I want to buy the groceries,” she said, stepping close to his elbow, “but there will be so many, you’ll have to help carry them home to your wife and Tommy.”
He stared at her sullenly. “Who told you to buy groceries?” he demanded.