“That lady,” said Gallegher, “asked me what door they let the released prisoners out of, an’ I said I didn’t know, but that I knew a young fellow who did.”

Bronson stood considering the possible value of this for a moment, and then crossed the street slowly.  The woman looked up sharply as he approached, but stood still.

“If you are waiting to see Quinn,” Bronson said, abruptly, “he will come out of that upper gate, the green one with the iron spikes over it.”

The woman stood motionless, and looked at him doubtfully.  She was quite young and pretty, but her face was drawn and wearied-looking, as though she were a convalescent or one who was in trouble.  She was of the working class.

“I am waiting for him myself,” Bronson said, to reassure her.

“Are you?” the girl answered, vaguely.  “Did you try to see him?” She did not wait for an answer, but went on, nervously:  “They wouldn’t let me see him.  I have been here since noon.  I thought maybe he might get out before that, and I’d be too late.  You are sure that is the gate, are you?  Some of them told me there was another, and I was afraid I’d miss him.  I’ve waited so long,” she added.  Then she asked, “You’re a friend of his, ain’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Bronson said.  “I am waiting to give him some money.”

“Yes?  I have some money, too,” the girl said, slowly.  “Not much.”  Then she looked at Bronson eagerly and with a touch of suspicion, and took a step backward.  “You’re no friend of hern, are you?” she asked, sharply.

“Her?  Whom do you mean?” asked Bronson.

But Gallegher interrupted him.  “Certainly not,” he said.  “Of course not.”

The girl gave a satisfied nod, and then turned to retrace her steps over the beat she had laid out for herself.

“Whom do you think she means?” asked Bronson, in a whisper.

“His wife, I suppose,” Gallegher answered, impatiently.

The girl came back, as if finding some comfort in their presence. “She’s inside now,” with a nod of her head towards the prison.  “Her and her mother.  They come in a cab,” she added, as if that circumstance made it a little harder to bear.  “And when I asked if I could see him, the man at the gate said he had orders not.  I suppose she gave him them orders.  Don’t you think so?” She did not wait for a reply, but went on as though she had been watching alone so long that it was a relief to speak to some one.  “How much money have you got?” she asked.

Bronson told her.

“Fifty-five dollars!” The girl laughed, sadly.  “I only got fifteen dollars.  That ain’t much, is it?  That’s all I could make—­I’ve been sick—­that and the fifteen I sent the paper.”

“Was it you that—­did you send any money to a paper?” asked Bronson.