“I’m a drunken thief stealing brass couplings to get another drink, Violet.”
He picked up the brass and threw it up into the engine, still clutching her arm so that she could not run away.
“But, girl–” he cried, “you’ve got to quit this–this is no way for you to live.”
She looked at him to see what was in his mind. She broke away, and scrambled into the engine cab and put the brass where it could not fall out.
“You don’t want that brass falling out, and them tracing you down here and jugging you–you fool,” she panted as she climbed to the ground.
“Lookee here, Henry Fenn,” she cried, “you’re too good a man for this. You’ve had a dirty deal. I knew it when she married you–the snake; I know it–I’ve always known it.”
The woman’s voice was shrill with emotion. Fenn saw that she was verging on the hysterical, and took her arm and led her down the dark alley between the cars. The man’s heart was touched–partly by the wreck he saw, and partly by her words. They brought back the days when he and she had seen their visions. The liquor had left his head, and he was a tremble. He felt her cold, hard hand, and took it in his own dirty, shaken hand to warm it.
“How are you living?” he asked.
“This way,” she replied. “I got my children–they’ve got to live someway. I can’t leave them day times and see ’em run wild on the streets–the little girls need me.”
375She looked up into his face as they hurried past an arc lamp, and she saw tears there.