He had involved the wife he had married in his misfortunes.  She had been a good woman, weaker than he, yet she stuck to him.  God chose the weak thing to rejuvenate the strong.  In the prison he had enjoyed abundant leisure for reflection.  After he learned of the birth of his daughter he determined to do differently when he was freed.  Many men determine, especially in the case of an ex-convict, but society usually determines better—­no, not better, but more strongly.  Society had different ideas.  It was Brahministic in its religion.  Caste?  Yes, once a criminal always a criminal.

“Old girl,” said the broken man, “it’s no use.  I’ve tried to be decent for your sake and the kid’s, but it can’t be done.  I can’t get honest work.  They’ve put the mark of Cain on me.  They can take the consequences.  The kid’s got to have some Christmas; you’ve got to have food and drink and clothes and fire.  God, how cold it is!  I’ll go out and get some.”

“Isn’t there something else we can pawn?”

“Nothing.”

“Isn’t there any work?”

“Work?” laughed the man bitterly.  “I’ve tramped the city over seeking it, and you, too.  Now, I’m going to get money—­elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Where it’s to be had.”

“Oh, Jack, think.”

“If I thought, I’d kill you and the kid and myself.”

“Perhaps that would be better,” said the woman simply.  “There doesn’t seem to be any place left for us.”

“We haven’t come to that yet,” said the man.  “Society owes me a living and, by God, it’s got to pay it to me.”

It was an oft-repeated, widely held assertion, whether fallacious or not each may determine for himself.

“I’m afraid,” said the woman.

“You needn’t be; nothing can be worse than this hell.”

He kissed her fiercely.  Albeit she was thin and haggard she was beautiful to him.  Then he bent over his little girl.  He had not yet had sufficient time since his release to get very well acquainted with her.  She had been born while he was in prison, but it had not taken any time at all for him to learn to love her.  He stared at her a moment.  He bent to kiss her and then stopped.  He might awaken her.  It is always best for the children of the very poor to sleep.  He who sleeps dines, runs the Spanish proverb.  He turned and kissed the little ragged stockings instead, and then he went out.  He was going to play—­was it Santa Claus, indeed?

IV

The strange, illogical, ironical god of chance, or was it Providence acting through some careless maid, had left an area window unlocked in the biggest and newest house on the avenue.  Any house would have been easy for “Crackerjack” if he had possessed the open sesame of his kit of burglar’s tools, but he had not had a jimmy in his hand since he was caught with one and sent to Sing Sing.  He had examined house after house, trusting to luck as he wandered on, and, lo! fortune favoured him.