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Show Wasn't Addressing Tramp. On her way downtown the other morning the woman stopped to see a sick friend, who lives on the first floor "of a remodeled private house with a bedroom overlooking a nice old-fash-I loned back yard. The window was j open and suddenly a loud voice broke : the calm of the sick-room. "You dirty bum, that's what you , are," said the voice. "Of course you'll j be comln' home now for your break-! break-! fast and look at you, covered with dirt. It's a bum you are and not a drop of blue blood In you. Quit your whinln.' you hungry stayout. Me look-In' look-In' and waitln' for you last night and worrying about you! And now I sup- pose you want to sleep all day and rest up for another night. You're just like the rest of your kind. It's a bum you j are and notbln' else." J The woman leaned out of the open .window thnt she might see the wreck of humanity the tirade had visualized. And there was the romfortahly built, i Immaculately clean janltress letting In j her prize-winning Angora cat. Dough-n Dough-n hoy bad come home for breakfast. ; New York Sun. ' !' i |