gate was shut, and all the blinds on the front of the house were closed.
I put my hand on the old brass knocker and rapped softly. Bowser opened
the door. His eyes looked as if he had not slept for a week.

"What's the matter--anybody sick?"

"No--dead!" and he burst into tears.

"Not Muffles!"

"No--the Missus."

"When?"

"Last night. De boss is inside, all broke up."

I tiptoed across the hall and into the bar-room. He was sitting by a
table, his head in his hands, his back toward me.

"Muffles, this is terrible! How did it happen?"

He straightened up and held out his hand, guiding me to a seat beside
him. For some minutes he did not speak. Then he said, slowly, ignoring
my question, the tears streaming down his cheeks:

"Dis ends me. I ain't no good widout de Missus. You thought maybe when
ye were 'round that I was a runnin' things; you thought maybe it was me
that was lookin' after de kids and keepin' 'em clean; you thought maybe
when I got pinched and they come near jugging me that some of me pals
got me clear--you don't know nothin' 'bout it. De Missus did that, like