“If I was youse,” she said at last, “and hated a guy like youse do this Noyes, I’d fetch ’im a insult that’d get under his skin right.  I’d make evens wit’ ‘im, I would, not jes’ talk about it.”

“Oh, you would!” remarked the lodger.  He took a long pull at the bottle.  “You be Queen Kathrine, you alley-cat.”

So the nightly teaching began with the usual accompaniment of curses, blows, and shouts of brutal laughter.  But when it was over and the lodger was sinking to the third stage that came inevitably with the bottom of the bottle, he kept looking at his pupil queerly.

“Oh, you would!  Oh, you would, would you?” He said it over and over again.  “Oh, you would, would you?”

And after that he was changed by the leaven of hate her suggestion had started working in him.  For one thing, he took a far greater interest in the teaching for its own sake.  Of that much the girl herself was thankfully aware.  And she thought, Cake did, that the dull husk of self was wearing away from that part of her destined to be famous, wearing away at last.  The lodger’s curses changed in tone as the nights filed past, the blows diminished, the laughter became far more frequent.

Cake, as rapidly reaching the end of her girlhood as the lodger was nearing the limits of his drink-sapped strength, redoubled her efforts.  It was very plain to her that he could not live much longer; death in delirium tremens was inevitable.  After that, she decided, school would not keep, and she must try her fortune.

Then one night in the midst of the potion scene when she felt herself Juliet, soft, passionate, and beautiful, far away in the land of tragic romance, she heard the lodger crying: 

“Stop—­my God, stop!  How do you get that way?  Don’t you know there’s a limit to human endurance, alley-cat?”

He was fairly toppling from the dry-goods box.  His eyes were popping from his head, and in the flickering candlelight his face looked strained and queer.  In after life she became very familiar with that expression; she saw it on all types of faces.  In fact, she came to expect to see it there.  But she did not know how to analyze it then.  She glimpsed it only as a tribute to her performance, so immense that she had to be halted in the middle, and felt correspondingly elated.  She was exactly right in her deduction.  But Cake and the lodger advanced along very different lines of thought.

The next night he was shaky, came all too quickly to the teaching period, and left it as speedily.  Then he retired to the flock mattress in the corner of the room and called Cake to bring the candle.

“I’ve an idea I’m going to leave you, gutter-snipe,” he said, “and I doubt if I ever see you again.  The end of life cancels all bands.  And the one that bound you to me, alley-cat, was very material, very material indeed.  The kind that runs easily in and out of a black bottle.”  He laughed.