It was at this moment that the emotional tornado broke upon the kitchen. These atmospheric disturbances are not uncommon among the homeless. Circumstances force them to lead highly concentrated lives in that they must seize on the moment when they find it⁠—the moment which gives them the shelter of a roof, however pitifully impermanent.

The door was flung wide open, and a good-looking young woman in a dilapidated fur coat and battered feathered hat burst in. She flung a brown paper parcel on the floor with a gesture of tragedy.

“There it is,” she cried, “my old man’s washing⁠—I tell you he won’t want it again for sixteen months.”