MRS. AUSTIN. [Whispering.] What happened to him?

JIM. A street car killed him.

MRS. AUSTIN. Oh!

JIM. Run over his chest, ma'am. I came home at night, and they told
me, and I near went out of my mind. Can you think what it was to see
him . . . with his eyes starting out of his head like, and his
beautiful little body all mashed flat . . .

MRS. AUSTIN. [Wildly.] Oh, spare me!

JIM. I told you it wouldn't be a pretty story. Do you think maybe you
wouldn't take to drink if you saw a sight like that? [Sinking back.]
Since then I've looked for work, but I haven't cared much. Only
sometimes I've thought I'd like to meet that young lawyer . . .

MRS. AUSTIN. [Starting up.] Oh!

JIM. Yes, it all began with him. But I don't know . . . they'd only
jug me. Anyway, tonight I was sitting in a saloon with two fellows
that I had met. One of them was a second-story man . . . a fellow that
climbs up porches and fire- escapes. And I heard him telling about a
haul he'd made, and I said to myself: "There's a job for me . . . I'll
be a second-story man." And I tried it . . . but you see I didn't do
very well. I'm not good for much, I guess, any more.

AUSTIN. [Enters left, revolver in hand; stands watching, unobserved.]