And so the other women turned out the contents of
their pocketbooks; most of them had only pennies and
nickels, but they gave him all. Mrs. Olszewski,
who lived next door, and had a husband who was a skilled
cattle butcher, but a drinking man, gave nearly half
a dollar, enough to raise the whole sum to a dollar
and a quarter. Then Jurgis thrust it into his
pocket, still holding it tightly in his fist, and started
away at a run.
“Madame Haupt Hebamme”, ran a sign, swinging
from a second-story window over a saloon on the avenue;
at a side door was another sign, with a hand pointing
up a dingy flight of stairs. Jurgis went up them,
three at a time.
Madame Haupt was frying pork and onions, and had her
door half open to let out the smoke. When he
tried to knock upon it, it swung open the rest of
the way, and he had a glimpse of her, with a black
bottle turned up to her lips. Then he knocked
louder, and she started and put it away. She
was a Dutchwoman, enormously fat—when she
walked she rolled like a small boat on the ocean,
and the dishes in the cupboard jostled each other.
She wore a filthy blue wrapper, and her teeth were
black.
“Vot is it?” she said, when she saw Jurgis.
He had run like mad all the way and was so out of
breath he could hardly speak. His hair was flying
and his eyes wild—he looked like a man that
had risen from the tomb. “My wife!”
he panted. “Come quickly!” Madame
Haupt set the frying pan to one side and wiped her
hands on her wrapper.
“You vant me to come for a case?” she
inquired.
“Yes,” gasped Jurgis.
“I haf yust come back from a case,” she
said. “I haf had no time to eat my dinner.
Still—if it is so bad—”
“Yes—it is!” cried he.
“Vell, den, perhaps—vot you pay?”
“I—I—how much do you want?”
Jurgis stammered.
“Tventy-five dollars.” His face fell.
“I can’t pay that,” he said.
The woman was watching him narrowly. “How
much do you pay?” she demanded.
“Must I pay now—right away?”
“Yes; all my customers do.”
“I—I haven’t much money,”
Jurgis began in an agony of dread. “I’ve
been in—in trouble—and my money
is gone. But I’ll pay you—every
cent—just as soon as I can; I can work—”
“Vot is your work?”
“I have no place now. I must get one.
But I—”
“How much haf you got now?”
He could hardly bring himself to reply. When
he said “A dollar and a quarter,” the
woman laughed in his face.
“I vould not put on my hat for a dollar and
a quarter,” she said.
“It’s all I’ve got,” he pleaded,
his voice breaking. “I must get some one—my
wife will die. I can’t help it—I—”
Madame Haupt had put back her pork and onions on the
stove. She turned to him and answered, out of
the steam and noise: “Git me ten dollars
cash, und so you can pay me the rest next mont’.”
