Excerpt: I ain't got twenty-five cents in my clothes, so you got to lend me a couple of dollars till Saturday." "I'll cash a check for you," Mrs. Perlmutter said firmly, and as soon as dinner was concluded Morris drew a check for ten dollars and Mrs. Perlmutter gave him that amount out of her housekeeping money. It was nearly nine o'clock when Morris and Minnie groped along the dark hallway of a tenement house in Park Avenue. On the iron viaduct that bestrides that deceptively named thoroughfare heavy trains thundered at intervals, and it was only after Morris had knocked repeatedly at the door of a top-floor apartment that its inmates heard the summons above the roar of the traffic without. "Well, Mrs. Schenkmann," Minnie cried cheerfully, "how's the baby to-night?" "Schenkmann?" Morris murmured; "Schenkmann? Is that the name of them people?" "Why, yes," Minnie replied. "Didn't I tell you that? Mrs. Schenkmann, this is my husband. And I suppose this is Mr. Schenkmann."