she lets that fella get away from her evenin’s when, if she’d an ounce o’ sense, she could keep him stickin’ so close at home, a capcine plaster wouldn’t be in it.  Then, when he comes home, a little the worse for wear, she ups an’ reproaches ’m, which, God knows, that ain’t no time to argue with a man.  You don’t want to argue with a fella when he’s so.  You just want to tellm’.  Tell’m with the help of a broomstick if you want to, but tell’m, or leave’m alone.  An’ it’s bad for the childern—­all this is—­it’s bad for Cora an’ Francie.  What idea’ll they get o’ the holy estate o’ matrimony, I should like to know?  That the man has the upper hand?  That’s a nice notion for a girl to grow up with, nowadays.  Hark!  My, but he’s givin’ it to her good an’ plenty this time!  Sammy Slawson, shame on ye, man! to let a poor woman be beat like that, an’ never raise a hand to save your own childern from bein’ old maids.  Another scream outer her, an’ I’ll go in myself, in the face of you.”

“Now, Martha, be sensible!” pleaded Sam Slawson.  “You can’t break into a man’s house without his consent.”

“Can’t I?  Well, just you watch me close, an’ you’ll see if I can’t.”

“You’ll make yourself liable to the law.  He’s her husband, you know.  She can complain to the courts, if she’s got any kick comin’.  But it’s not my business to go interferin’ between husband and wife.  ’What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.’”

Martha wagged an energetic assent.

“Shoor!  That certaintly lets you out.  But there ain’t no mention made o’ woman not bein’ on the job, is there?”

She covered the narrow width of the hall in a couple of strides, and beat her knuckles smartly against the panel of the opposite door.

By this time the baluster-railing, all the way up, was festooned with white-clad tenants, bending over, looking down.

“Martha,” protested Sam Slawson, “you’re in your nightgown!  You can’t go round like that!  Everybody’s lookin’ at you!”

“Say, you—­Mr. Langbein in there!  Open the door.  It’s me!  Mrs. Slawson!  Let me in!” was Martha’s only reply.  Her keen ear, pressed against the panel, heard nothing in response but an oath, following another even more ungodly sound, and then the choking misery of a woman’s convulsive sobs.

Mrs. Slawson set her shoulder against the door, braced herself for a mighty effort, and—­

“Did you ever see the like of her?” muttered Sam, as, still busy fastening the garments he had hurriedly pulled on, he followed his wife into the Langbeins’ flat, into the Langbeins’ bedroom.  There he saw her resolutely march up to the irate German, swing him suddenly about, and send him crashing, surprised, unresisting, to the opposite side of the room.  For a second she stood regarding him scornfully.