an' drin' whisk' here thish way? 'Cause home reg'lar livin' hell!"

Jimmie waited a long time in the street and then crept warily
up through the building. He passed with great caution the door of
the gnarled woman, and finally stopped outside his home and listened.

He could hear his mother moving heavily about among the
furniture of the room. She was chanting in a mournful voice,
occasionally interjecting bursts of volcanic wrath at the father,
who, Jimmie judged, had sunk down on the floor or in a corner.

"Why deh blazes don' chere try teh keep Jim from fightin'?
I'll break her jaw," she suddenly bellowed.

The man mumbled with drunken indifference. "Ah, wha' deh
hell. W'a's odds? Wha' makes kick?"

"Because he tears 'is clothes, yeh damn fool," cried the woman
in supreme wrath.

The husband seemed to become aroused. "Go teh hell," he
thundered fiercely in reply. There was a crash against the door
and something broke into clattering fragments. Jimmie partially
suppressed a howl and darted down the stairway. Below he paused
and listened. He heard howls and curses, groans and shrieks,
confusingly in chorus as if a battle were raging. With all was the
crash of splintering furniture. The eyes of the urchin glared in
fear that one of them would discover him.

Curious faces appeared in doorways, and whispered comments