A young woman of my acquaintance was married to a professional
criminal named Joe. Three months after the wedding he was arrested
and "sent up" for two years. Molly had always been accustomed to many
lovers, but she remained faithful to her absent husband for a year. At
the end of that time she obtained a divorce which the state law makes
easy for the wife of a convict, and married a man who was "rich and
respectable"--in fact, he owned the small manufacturing establishment
in which her mother did the scrubbing. He moved his bride to another
part of town six miles away, provided her with a "steam-heated flat,"
furniture upholstered in "cut velvet," and many other luxuries of
which Molly heretofore had only dreamed. One day as she was wheeling a
handsome baby carriage up and down the prosperous street, her brother,
who was "Joe's pal," came to tell her that Joe was "out," had come to
the old tenement and was "mighty sore" because "she had gone back on
him." Without a moment's hesitation Molly turned the baby carriage in
the direction of her old home and never stopped wheeling it until she
had compassed the entire six miles. She and Joe rented the old room
and went to housekeeping. The rich and respectable husband made every
effort to persuade her to come back, and then another series of
efforts to recover his child, before he set her free through a court
proceeding. Joe, however, steadfastly refused to marry her, still
"sore" because she had not "stood by." As he worked only
intermittently, and was too closely supervised by the police to do
much at his old occupation, Molly was obliged to support the humble
ménage by scrubbing in a neighboring lodging house and by washing "the
odd shirts" of the lodgers. For five years, during which time two
children were born, when she was constantly subjected to the taunts of
her neighbors, and when all the charitable agencies refused to give
help to such an irregular household, Molly happily went on her course
with no shade of regret or sorrow. "I'm all right as long as Joe keeps