16
T
he Hamilton Hegermans
lived in an old brownstone mansion in what once had been a smart section of the city. But since the McKinley era the slums had come creeping up, block by block. Now the sidewalks resounded with the clatter of Yiddish oftener than with English and the alleyways in the rear echoed at night to n***o boisterousness. But though the “nice people” had moved away years before, the Hegermans stayed on in the unpainted house behind the ugly wrought-iron palings. They were childless but happy.
There are Hegermans in every large city. By a freak of ill luck—generally by losing a good deal of money—they are jolted out of their own circle and sometimes out of their own generation. Without the means to travel in circles they once knew they find solace with younger people—th
