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LIFE IN CHICAGO.

"Why anxious?" I queried, "and why did you go out if you were tired?" "Got to," she replied through tightly closed lips. "You don't mind if I leave you again for a moment?" she added and before I could answer she was out of the room again. When she returned in five minutes I had grown impatient and put on my overcoat and hat.

"Goin?" she asked in surprise:

"Yes", I replied, "I don't like this empty cage while you go off to someone else."

"Someone else" she repeated and then as if desperate: "it's my baby if you must know: a friend takes care of her when I'm out or working."

"Oh, you poor thing," I cried, "fancy you with a baby at this life!"

"I wanted a baby", she cried defiantly. "I wouldn't be without her for anything! I always wanted a baby: there's lots of girls like that."

"Really?" I cried astounded.

"Do you know her father?" I went on.

"Of course I do," she retorted. "He's working in the stock yards; but he's tough and won't keep sober."

"I suppose you'd marry him if he would go straight?" I asked.

"Any girl would marry a decent feller!" she replied.

"You're pretty," I said.

"D'ye think so?" she asked eagerly pushing her hair back from the sides of her head. "I used to be but now—this life—" and she shrugged her shoulders expressively.

"You don't like it!" I asked.

"No," she cried; "though when you get a nice feller, it's not so bad; but they're scarce," she went on bitterly, "and generally when they're nice, they've