not. At least he said nothing." he couldn't detect a hair in the
butter. I'm not worried about him. How is it with your own folks? Your
mother doesn't know?"

[Transcriber's note: previous paragraph transcribed as printed, with
apparent obfuscation by duplicated line.]

"No," replied Elsie, uneasy again. "Anyway, mother wouldn't matter so
much, but dad--" She covered her face with her hands.

"Never mind," said Druce tenderly, drawing her toward him and caressing
her. "We had some ride, didn't we?"

"Grand," replied Elsie, brightened by the recollection.

"I told you it would be all right if I hired the car and picked you up
around the corner from the mill. Say--" The man lowered his tone. "Gee,
you're prettier than ever today, Elsie!"

Something in his manner caused the girl to recoil. The shrinking movement
did not escape Druce.

"What's the matter, girlie?" he inquired. "Do you know that in all the
weeks I have been coming down here from Chicago to see you, you haven't
even kissed me?"

"Please," pleaded the girl, pushing him away. She scarcely understood her
mood. She only knew she did not want Druce to touch her.

"What's the matter?" repeated Druce, following close behind her.

"I--I don't know," faltered the girl, "I feel wicked somehow."

"Why?" He led her to a bench and sat down beside her. "Haven't I always
treated you like a lady?"

"Yes, Martin, you've been good to me--but--I feel wicked."

Druce laughed. "Nonsense, girlie," he said, "you couldn't be wicked if
you tried. Do you know what you ought to do?"

"What?" she asked.

"Turn your back on this town where nothing ever happens and come to
little old Chicago, the live village by the lake."

"Chicago! What could I do there?"

"Make more money in a month than you can earn here in a year."

"But how?"

"You can sing," said Druce appraisingly. "You're there forty ways when it
comes to looks. Why they'd pay you a hundred dollars a week to sing in
the cabarets."

"Cabarets?" The girl's interest was aroused. "What's a cabaret?"

"A cabaret," said Druce, "is a restaurant where ladies and gentlemen
dine. A fine great hall, polished floors, rugs, palms, a lot of little
tables, colored lights, flowers, silver, cut glass, perfumes, a grand
orchestra--get that in your mind--and then the orchestra strikes up and
you come down the aisle, right through the crowd and sing to them."

"Oh, I'd love to do that," said the girl.

"Why not try it?"