maids. Another scream outer her, an' I'll go in myself, in the face of
you."

"Now, Martha, be sensible!" pleaded Sam Slawson. "You can't break into a
man's house without his consent."

"Can't I? Well, just you watch me close, an' you'll see if I can't."

"You'll make yourself liable to the law. He's her husband, you know. She
can complain to the courts, if she's got any kick comin'. But it's not
_my_ business to go interferin' between husband and wife. 'What God hath
joined together, let no man put asunder.'"

Martha wagged an energetic assent.

"Shoor! That certaintly lets _you_ out. But there ain't no mention made
o' _woman_ not bein' on the job, is there?"

She covered the narrow width of the hall in a couple of strides, and
beat her knuckles smartly against the panel of the opposite door.

By this time the baluster-railing, all the way up, was festooned with
white-clad tenants, bending over, looking down.

"Martha," protested Sam Slawson, "you're in your nightgown! You can't
go round like that! Everybody's lookin' at you!"

"Say, you--Mr. Langbein in there! Open the door. It's me! Mrs. Slawson!
Let me in!" was Martha's only reply. Her keen ear, pressed against the
panel, heard nothing in response but an oath, following another even