"I'm thankful to say she ain't. If she had been I'd expect to die of shame for letting her die in this hole. She's a neighbor of mine, at least I live around the corner; but I don't know much about her, only that her man comes home drunk about every night, and tears around like a wild beast."
Which last recalled to John's remembrance the reason of his being in that room.
"Is that her husband lying out there?" he asked, nodding toward the door.
"Yes, it is. Been there long enough to know something by this time, I should think, too."
"It seems to me the first thing to be done is to get him in here; it isn't decent to leave him in this storm."
"It's decenter than he deserves, in my opinion, enough sight," Mary muttered.
Nevertheless they went toward the door, and with infinite pains and much fearful swearing from the partially roused man, they succeeded in pushing and pulling and dragging him inside the cellar on the floor, when he immediately sank back into heavy sleep.
"Isn't he a picture of a man, now?" said the sturdy Mary, with a face and gesture of intense disgust.
"I would rather be he than the man who sold him the rum," her companion answered, solemnly. "Well, Mary, have you time to stay here awhile, or must you go at once?"
"I'll take time, sir. Feelings is feelings, if I be poor; and I can't leave the boy and all, like this."