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Ida.
    “Tomorrow,” she called out. “The store is now closed.”
    The man stopped for a second, and she thought with relief that he was going away, but once again he began to rap the coin sharply and insistently. He waved his hands and shouted at her. A woman joined him.
    “Mrs. Kaplan!” she called, “Mrs. Kaplan!”
    Ida recognized Mrs. Costa. A great fright tore at her heart, and she rushed over to the door.
    “What’s the matter?” she cried when she opened it.
    “Gas,” said Patsy. “Gas in the hall. Where’s Sam?”
    “Oh, my God,” cried Ida, pressing her hands against her bosom. “Oh, my God,” she cried, “Sam is upstairs.”
    “Gimme the key, quick,” said Patsy.
    “Give him the key, Mrs. Kaplan,” said Mrs. Costa excitedly.
    Ida grew faint. “Oh, my God,” she cried.
    “Gimme the key,” Patsy repeated urgently.
    Ida found it in the pocket of her sweater and handed it to Patsy. He ran upstairs, two steps at a time, his wife running after him. Ida
closed the store and followed them upstairs. The odor of gas was heavy.
    “Oh, my God,” she cried over and over again.
    Patsy was opening all the windows, and his wife was shaking Sam in his bed. The sharp heavy stink of the gas tore at Ida’s nostils as she came into the room.
    “Sam!” she shrieked, “Sam!”
    He woke from his sleep with a shock. “What’s the matter?” he cried, his voice filled with fear.
    “Oh, why did you do it?” cried Mrs. Costa in the dark. “Why did you do it?”
    “I thank God he’s alive,” said Patsy.
    Ida moaned and squeezed her hands against her bosom.
    “What’s the matter?” cried Sam. Then he smelled the gas, and for a moment he was paralyzed with fright.
    Patsy put on the light. Sam’s face was a dark red. He was perspiring from every pore. He pulled up the quilt to cover his shoulders.
    “Why did you do it for, Sam?” asked Patsy.
    “What? What?” Sam said excitedly, “what did I do?”
    “The gas. You turned on the gas radiator without making the light.”
    “It wasn’t lit?” cried Sam in astonishment.
    “No,” said Mrs. Costa.
    Sam grew quieter. He lay back. “I made a mistake,” he said. “This is the first time I made such a mistake.”
    “Didn’t you do it on purpose?” asked Mrs. Costa.
    “What on purpose? Why on purpose?” Sam asked.
    “We thought—”
    “No,” said Sam, “no, I made a mistake. Maybe the match was no good.”
    “Then you shoulda smelled the gas,” said Patsy.
    “No, I got a cold.”
    “The only thing that saved you was you got a lot of air. You’re lucky this flat ain’t windproof.”
    “Yes, I’m lucky,” Sam agreed.
    “I told you to put on a coat,” said Mrs. Costa. “He was standing out in the snow without a coat,” she said to Ida.
    Ida was pale and silent.
    “Well, come on,” said Patsy, taking his wife by the arm, “everybody wants to go to sleep.”
    “Good night,” said Mrs. Costa.
    “Leave the windows open for a coupla minutes more, and don’t light no matches,” advised Patsy.
    “I’m much obliged to you for your trouble you took,” said Sam.
    “Don’t mention it at all,” said Patsy, “but next time take more care.”
    “It was a mistake,” said Sam. “Nothing more, I assure you.”
    The Costas left. Ida saw them to the door and turned the lock. Sam covered himself more securely with the quilt. The house was freezing with the windows open. He was afraid he would begin to sneeze again. Ida said nothing. Sam fell asleep very soon.
    Ida waited until the house was free of the smell of gas. Then she closed the windows. Before undressing, she looked at the radiator and saw that the stopcock was closed. She got into bed, utterly fatigued, and fell asleep immediately.
    It seemed to Ida that she had slept only a short time when she awoke suddenly. Frightened, she looked at Sam, but he was bulked up beside her with the covers over his head. She listened to his deep, heavy breathing, and the momentary fear left