Here she put down five cents more; she never bet higher than this on a "row." From the policy-shop she went back to the whisky-shop, and took another drink.

By this time she was beginning to grow noisy.

It so happened that the woman who had left the baby with her a little while before came in just then, and being herself much the worse for drink, picked a quarrel with Mother Hewitt, accusing her of getting drunk on the money she received for keeping the baby, and starving it to death.

A fight was the consequence, in which they were permitted to tear and scratch and bruise each other in a shocking way, to the great enjoyment of the little crowd of debased and brutal men and women who filled the dram-shop.

But fearing a visit from the police, the owner of the den, a strong, coarse Irishman, interfered, and dragging the women apart, pushed Mother Hewitt out, giving her so violent an impetus that she fell forward into the middle of the narrow street, where she lay unable to rise, not from any hurt, but from sheer intoxication.
"What's up now ?" cried one and another as this little ripple of disturbance broke upon that vile and troubled sea of humanity.
"Only Mother Hewitt drunk again!" lightly spoke a young girl not out of her teens, but with a countenance that seemed marred by centuries of debasing evil.