The girl, Maggie, blossomed in a mud puddle. She grew to be a most
rare and wonderful production of a tenement district, a pretty girl.
To her the earth was composed of hardships and insults. She felt instant
admiration for a man who openly defied it.
She saw the golden glitter of the place where Pete was to take her. An
entertainment of many hues and many melodies where she was afraid
she might appear small and mouse-colored.
Her mother drank whiskey all Friday morning. With lurid face and
tossing hair she cursed and destroyed furniture all Friday afternoon.
When Maggie came home at half-past six her mother lay asleep amidst
the wreck of chairs and a table. Fragments of various household utensils
were scattered about the floor. She had vented some phase of drunken
fury upon the lambrequin. It lay in a bedraggled heap in the corner.