dging by the fashions."

"Where is Simiti, kidlet?"

Carmen answered in a scarcely audible voice, "South America."

Low exclamations of astonishment encircled the table, while the women
sat regarding the girl curiously.

"But," continued Carmen in a trembling voice, "where is Mrs. Reed?
And isn't Mr. Harris here? Why don't they come? Don't they know I am
here?"

She looked appealingly from one to another. Her beautiful face wore
such an expression of mingled fear, uncertainty, and helplessness as
to throw a hush upon the room. One of the women rose. "God!" she
muttered, "it's a shame!" She looked for a moment uncertainly into the
big, deep eyes of the girl, and then turned and hastily left the
room.

The silence which followed was broken by a pallid, painted creature at
the end of the table.

"What an old devil the Madam is! My God! One look into those eyes
would have been enough for me!"

"What's the idea, Jude?" asked another, nodding toward the girl. "Does
she stay here?"

The woman addressed as Jude shook her head. "This is only a recruiting
station for the regular army. She'll go over to French Lucy's; and the
Madam will get a round price for the job."

"Old Lucy'll get rich off of her! But she needs the money. Ames owns
her house, too, doesn't he?"

"Sure thing!" replied Jude, brightening under the stimulus of her
wine. "He owns every house in this block, they say. Got long leases
for 'em all. And the rents--suffering Moses! The Madam rolls on the
floor and cusses for a week straight every time she pays hers. But
just the same, if you've ever noticed, the houses that Ames owns are
never raided by the coppers. Ames whacks up with the mayor and the
city hall gang and the chief of police. That means protection, and we
pay for it in high rents. But it's a lot better'n being swooped down
on by the cops every few weeks, ain't it? We know what we're expected
to pay, that way. And we never do when we keep handin' it out to the
cops."

"That's right," approved some one.

"It sure is. That's what the collector says. And he's got a new
collector, fellow from the Ketchim Realty Company. They're the old
man's agents now for his dive-houses. He can't get anybody else to
handle 'em, so the collector tells me."

"Belle Carey's place was pulled last night, I hear," said one of the
women, pushing back her plate and lighting a cigarette.

"Yes," returned Jude, "and why? Cause the house is owned by
Gannette--swe