Joe stared at the letter for some moments as if dazed, then he locked the door, and when on the following afternoon his landlady knocked to inquire if anything was wanted he opened it.  His bed was still unruffled, showing that he had not occupied it during the night, and when she saw the same letter she had brought to him, its writing blurred and tear-stained, lying open upon the dresser, and noted the red and swollen eyes and woe-begone expression of Joe’s face, her motherly heart quickly surmised the pitiful drama that had been enacted behind the closed door of the room.  She stepped close to the broken-hearted man, who was sitting upon a chair, mutely holding his head between his hands, and while she lightly stroked his hair she pleaded with him to go to the street, as she thought that mingling with the crowds would prove the best heart-balm for him.

Joe took his kind landlady’s advice, and while walking about the streets he felt that the pangs of remorse for the prank which had deprived him of his good mother were less severe, and when he began to feel more like his former self he retraced his steps to his lodging house.

When he reached South Clark Street, his progress was blocked by a jam of vehicle traffic.  The ever increasing crowd of delayed people forced Joe into the vestibule of one of the many slum saloons abounding in that locality, and here he watched the mounted police hard at work trying to again open the thoroughfare.  While he thus passed the time until he could cross the street, he was accosted by a typical Chicago rum-soaked bum.  “Say, friend,” the semi-maudlin wretch pleaded while he edged most uncomfortably close to Joe, “would you mind assisting a hungry fellow who has not eaten a square meal in a week?” More for the sake of getting rid of his unpleasant company, than from a desire to accord charity, Joe went into his trouser pockets for a small coin to hand to the beggar, but while fumbling for the money he caused his trainman’s cap to fall to the pavement.  He reached down and picked it up, and when he straightened himself he pulled out a dime and handed it to the beggar, who, instead of accepting the proffered donation, disdainfully pushed aside the hand holding the alms and stepping closer he almost insultingly leered into Joe’s face.  “Say, McDonald,” he hissed, “when did you make your getaway?” Before the astonished Joe could utter a single word the tramp pointed at Joe’s trainman’s cap and added:  “I see you are working now for the Chicago & North-Western Railroad,” and when still no sign of recognition came from Joe’s mouth he in a most threatening manner finished:  “Do they know your record over there?”