Now that you have read all the letters the city becomes a picture. An
office in which sits a well-dressed business man dictating to a pretty
stenographer. They are hard at work, but as they work their eyes glance
furtively out of a tall, thin window. Some one is passing outside the
window. A strange figure, hooded, head down, with his hands moving queerly
under his great black cloak.



THE MOTHER


She sat on one of the benches in the Morals Court. The years had made a
coarse mask of her face. There was nothing to see in her eyes. Her hands
were red and leathery, like a man's. They had done a man's work.

A year-old child slept in her arms. It was bundled up, although the
courtroom itself was suffocating. She was waiting for Blanche's case to
come up. Blanche had been arrested by a policeman for--well, for what?
Something about a man. So she would lose $2.00 by not being at work at the
store today. Why did they arrest Blanche? She was in that room with the
door closed. But the lawyer said not to worry. Yes, maybe it was a
mistake. Blanche never did nothing. Blanche worked at the store all day.

At night Blanche went out. But she was a young girl. And she had lots of
friends. Fine men. Sometimes they brought Blanche home late at night.
Blanche was her daughter.

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