which were in full view of Kling's doorway, was the
half-way house of any one who had five minutes to
spare; it was inside its walls that closer greetings
awaited those who, even with the thinnest of excuses,
made bold to avail themselves of her hospitality.
Drivers from the livery-stable next door, where
Kitty kept her own two horses; the policeman on
the beat; the night-watchman from the big store
on 28th Street, just off duty, or just going on; the newsman
in the early morning, who would use her benches
on which to rearrange his deliveries--all were welcome
as long as they behaved themselves. When they did
not--and once or twice such a thing had occurred--
she would throw wide the door and, with a quick
movement of her right thumb, order them out, a look
in her eye convincing the culprits at once that they
might better obey.

Never a day passed but there was a pot of coffee
simmering away at the back of the kitchen stove.
Indeed, hot coffee was Kitty's standby. Many a night
when she was up late poring over her delivery book,
getting ready for the next day's work, a carriage or cab
would drive into the livery-stable next door, and she
would send her husband out to bring in the coachman.

"Half froze, he is, waitin' outside Sherry's or Delmonico's,
and nobody thinkin' of what he suffers. Go,
git him, John, dear, and I'll stir up the fire. They
ought to be ashamed of themselves, dancin' till God