The husband was then upon an east-bound
freight-train. The newspaper telegraphed to Philadelphia, but nothing could
be found out about the woman. I've often wondered what became of the man."
The loud hubbub of conversation,--nearly all in German,--the shouts of the
waiters, the noise of their footfalls upon the stone floor, the sound of
mugs being placed upon tables and of Max draining his "stein" of beer,
bridged the hiatus between the ending of Max's narrative and the beginning
of my own:
"Your story reminds me of one to which the city editor assigned me on one
of my 'late nights.' I took a cab and went to the station-house. The case
had been reported by a policeman at Ninth and Locust Streets, who had
called for a patrol-wagon. From him I got the story. He had seen the thing
happen.
"He was walking down Locust at half-past twelve that night, and was
opposite the Midnight Mission, when his attention was attracted to the only
two persons who were at that moment on the other side of the street. One
was a man of the appearance of a vagabond, coming from Ninth Street. The
other was a woman, who had come from Tenth Street, and who seemed to walk
with great difficulty, as if ready to sink at every step from weakness.
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