Wednesday morning was a particularly noisy morning in the rear dining room of Landsmann’s. Jimmy Allen was the hero. On the night before, he had knocked out his opponent toward the close of the first round. Some of his admirers had met at Landsmann’s to discuss and celebrate the event, and one who had been present was supplying the others with the details.

“An’ toward the end o’ the round,” he was describing, “Jimmy ducked under the poor ‘Kid’s’ flabby guard an’ caught ’im an awful soak in the guts, an’ as ‘the Kid’ doubled up, Jimmy swung the finisher—it was a terror!—right on the point o’ the jaw. ‘The Kid’ hit the mat deader than a door nail. An’ they carried ’im away, a smashed hope inside o’ three minutes.”

The listeners clamored for more, and one of them queried: “But I thought ‘the Kid’ was such a clever sidestepper?”

“He is, but he couldn’t sidestep Jimmy. Jimmy’s a terror in the ring. He’s a good-natured feller outside, but the sight of another feller in front of ’im kind o’ riles ’is blood. He can’t rest till he’s battered the guy away, an’ let ’im see a little blood, like ‘the Kid’s’ mouth bleedin’, an’ it’s all off ’cept the count, for Jimmy goes wild. He got to ‘the Kid’ by constant borein’ in. Half a dozen fierce body taps weakened the poor guy, then a couple o’ face smashers, an’ then the finish. Oh, it was awful.”

The listeners sighed with awe. “An’ Jimmy?” requested the interlocutor.

“Oh, he got a scratch or two. But he was ’is smilin’ self soon’s it was over.”

Standing near the doorway, listening to every word with feverish interest, was Erna. Her eyes shone, and her heart beat with joyous pride.

Landsmann suddenly called to her from the kitchen: “Erna, your order is here.” She did not heed him, but waited for more details. Again, the storekeeper called to her, but once more, she refused to heed him. The man appeared in the doorway, his face red with vexation. “Erna! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes,” she retorted petulantly, and hurried past him. He followed close behind her, and as she turned, gave her a stupid but indignant stare. Erna returned his stare with interest, and Landsmann, beaten as he had been so often, retreated to the store, there to seek muttered consultation with his wife.

Erna was about to take up her order, when she came upon a remarkable sight. She stopped, stared and, stimulated by a desire to emulate, tiptoed forward, her strong white teeth showing in the joy of anticipation. On the bottom of the kitchen sink, a goodly sized rat was drinking.

The girl continued to sneak forward without making a sound. Suddenly, her hand darted out and seized the rat by the neck; at the same time, she turned on the water from the large faucet. With a strong grip, she held the squirming, squeaking animal under the stream.

Gretchen screamed and ran out into the store. “Was ist los?” demanded the storekeeper. Gretchen told her story in a frightened whisper. Mrs. Landsmann and Molly screamed; several customers arose and, led by Landsmann, who waddled forward, came into the kitchen. Landsmann stopped short at a respectful distance from Erna, eyed her furiously and shouted imprecations. She paid no attention to him, but continued her pleasant task, her face alight with animal joy and brutality. The rat’s life was soon extinguished, due, perhaps, more to Erna’s fingers than the water. Proudly holding it out by the tail for display, she dropped the body into a pail under the sink.

The storekeeper approached her, followed by the customers. The latter profferred congratulations, but not so Herr Landsmann. He grabbed some table refuse and dumping it into the pail, piled some old newspapers on top, all the while averting his face as much as possible. He then turned upon Erna, but she stood her ground, defying him, and the storekeeper was forced to resort to still stronger imprecation. Erna grew impudent in the knowledge of her righteousness, and Landsmann had to retreat once more, but this time with threatening gestures and for an even angrier consultation with his wife. The other waitresses refused to return to the kitchen, but went over to assist Landsmann.

The customers, who had been joined by others from the rear dining room, refused to leave the kitchen, each one wishing to pay Erna homage by compliment or by taking her arm. Jimmy Allen was forgotten. At first, the girl, conscious of the sensation she had created so accidentally,—killing rats was not entirely new to her—faced her worshippers with an exultant smile. Soon, she tired of their praise, and more so of their physical attentions, a repetition of their usual conduct toward her. Furthermore, the storekeeper’s attitude rankled deeper and deeper, until anger controlled her. Therefore, she pushed her way through the gathering, ordered all back to their tables, a command they obeyed under protest, and returned to her duties with a decidedly willful air. If only Jimmy were here!

Within the next hour or so, Herr Landsmann, backed by his wife’s moral support, came into the kitchen four times to reprimand Erna. He had even hunted for other pretexts to scold her. By nine o’clock, when Erna was almost alone in her small empire, her resentment had reached a state of revolt. Why didn’t he bounce her at once? It would be better. In fact, she would leave of her own free will. That would be better still. She would be free. She had a right to be happy. She had always been happy. So she would be free, Landsmann, his wife and the rest of the world notwithstanding. How she hated and despised them! Let any one else try to tie her hands!

Another half hour passed, and Erna’s determination grew. Her whole fighting instinct had been set astir. As a result, she had treated the few remaining customers with contemptuous neglect. They were all of one breed. And they left, one by one, passing remarks, laughing or trying to banter her. Soon she was left to herself and surly reflection, as Landsmann, luckily, had discontinued molesting her—for the present, at least. However, a newcomer entered the dining room. But he was the highly welcome Jimmy Allen. Erna greeted him with joy. She had forgotten her yesterday’s resentment, in his sudden rise to honor and in her present need. And Jimmy greeted her with joy. No other word passed between them. Instead, Jimmy embraced her with all of his brute strength. He then tried kissing her, only to have Erna slip from his grasp. Jimmy’s blood was aroused. He pursued Erna, cornered her and caught her with an even stronger embrace than before, breathing hard with passion. They overturned a chair, and Jimmy tripped and lost his hold. They both breathed rapidly, and stood apart, watching each other. Herr Landsmann looked into the dining room, scowled and disappeared.

Jimmy again came closer, but Erna shook her head in warning. She had seen the storekeeper. Presently, she gave her lover a short nervous account of her morning’s trial. Jimmy swore a generous oath and begged her to drop her work at once. But Erna hesitated.

“Ah, come out o’ this!” he pleaded.

Erna would not answer.

“Come out o’ this, Erna!” he repeated seriously. “You’re sick o’ this. I’m sick o’ this. Let’s go away. We’re fixed now—or as good as fixed. The only job’s the minister’s. Come on, Erna!”

Still, the girl refused to answer, but it was evident that she was weakening—as Jimmy was aware too. Hurriedly, he recounted his victory of last night, emphasized the fact that he was stronger than ever, knew “more about the game,” and outlined the near future: that he was soon to meet Young Walcott, whom he would dispose of, and some unknown from Chicago. He would have quite a little money shortly, and he could support her “as a decent woman should be supported.” She would be happy. They would both be happy. “Come on, Erna!” he concluded. “Be a sport!”

Erna was in a groggy state. One last stinging argument would have finished her. She hesitated, as did Jimmy, who, unfortunately, resorted to stalling.

At length, she said: “Gimme until to-night!”

Now, Jimmy missed entirely: “But I say, Erna. I got an important date then.”

Her resentment returned at once. She recalled his neglect of yesterday. “What?” she demanded jealously.

“I got to see Nolan an’ Walcott an’ his manager to-night. We got to talk over an’ arrange things. Besides, Nolan’s givin’ a little spread in my honor among the boys. Can’t you tell me now? Tell me now!”

“I said to-night, didn’t I?” she retorted in dangerous tones. “I know, Erna, but I can’t see you to-night. Make it to-morrow night, an’ we’ll talk it over, long’s you won’t say now. Make it to-morrow night! An’ I’ll spend the whole evenin’ with you.”

Erna had turned her back on him. Jimmy came closer, but she walked away, while he followed her, foolishly continuing to apologize and to cajole her. Unhappily, Jimmy’s suit was interrupted. Another man came into the dining room: Eric Nielsen.

Glances passed between them. Nielsen went over to the farthermost corner, took off his hat and coat and sat down. Jimmy looked at Erna on the sly, but she paid no attention to him. The young fighter did not stay for breakfast. He left the room without another word. And Erna smiled secretly.

Nielsen, always a lover of other’s secrets, had digested most of the scene. But he was still a diplomat. Consequently, he said nothing and permitted Erna to come over for his order. She looked nervous and uncertain.

“What’s new?” he asked pleasantly.

“Nothin’.”

“Still ham and eggs and the old program?”

She smiled slightly. “Yes!”

He ordered some eggs, toast and a cup of black coffee and explained: “I need some energy for work this morning. I feel dopy.” Erna smiled again and went away. She was feeling a little better. There was always something soothing in Nielsen and his banter. And she did not wait in the kitchen for his order, but came back to his table. Erna rarely acted parts in Nielsen’s company.

He looked up sympathetically. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but knowing her antipathy for expressed sympathy or soft advances, remained silent. Herr Landsmann looked in upon them. Erna flushed with her old resentment, and the storekeeper frowned and disappeared. Nielsen remarked the exchange. “That’s it, is it?” he observed gently.

“What?”

“The boss?”

She was thoughtful and then admitted: “Yes.”

“What’s the Dutchman done?”

Slowly, and not without reluctance in the beginning, she told him the details, he interrupting her once or twice with encouragement. “Shades of Norway!” he exclaimed in admiration. “You could easily play the Rat-wife in ‘Little Eyolf’.”

She looked at him in a puzzled way, but he laughed and advised her: “Don’t mind me; I’m cracked. Go on!”

Erna related the rest of the incident. He was quietly attentive to every detail, and at the conclusion of her recital, broke out cheerfully: “The trouble with the German is that he’s too slow to catch even a cockroach. Therefore, he resents speed. So Landsmann calls you down. And the girls—well, they’re children, like most females. You’re entirely too dramatic for their comfort.”

Erna never quite understood Nielsen, but she mellowed down to some of her old good nature. Nielsen continued his reassuring nonsense, and gradually, the rest of her good nature was restored. The young writer was not slow to notice the change, and he was glad to have been of service to her. He had no desire to make any personal use of Erna’s present mental condition, but nevertheless, he proceeded: “Erna, you must be tired.”

“Yes?”

“Certainly. You need a little rest—a little diversion. Let me help you out; there’s a sensible girl. Will you come over and spend part of the evening with me?”

His request had not been a bold one; he had made it seriously, and with no thought of himself. But Erna gave him a sharp look. He met her glance with an honest one and pursued: “I don’t want you to pose for the story, as I asked you yesterday—honestly, I don’t. I just want to amuse you a little, if I can. You need a bit of a change, even by having me supply it.”

This was approaching dangerously close to a soft advance, but Erna did not heed it. She was still busy trying to read Nielsen, but reading Nielsen was not so easy as appearances would have led one to believe. However, she was able to read humanity behind his lurking smile, and likewise his seriousness of purpose. “I don’t know,” she said in doubt.

“You’re not afraid?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Come ahead then. We’ll have a quiet little evening together, or you can tell me some more about your enemies, German and others. As for posing, I’ll do the posing, such as standing on my head, for example.”

Erna had always felt that Nielsen was human. It now come as a realization. She gave him a final penetrating glance. He smiled frankly, and she had to smile as well. “All right,” she resigned.

“You’re a good sport, Erna,” he complimented her. “But you’re too trusting, I’m afraid.”

“Think so?”

“Yes.”

She looked somewhat doubtful, and then her face cleared. Nielsen understood. “Your order’s ready, Erna,” came Landsmann’s voice.

And the girl hurried out.