was angry."

"Angry?" Miss Pilgrim's smile faded. "I'm, I'm sorry for that."

"So," continued Mr. Baruch, "as I have to go by this way, I think I
will call to see if I can help. It was some paper Mr. Selby cannot
find, I think."

"Some paper?" Miss Pilgrim pondered. "You don't know which it was?"

Mr. Baruch shook his head regretfully. Between them the rug lay and
glowed up at him.

"You see," continued Miss Pilgrim, "it's this way, Mr. Baruch. That
poor man in the hospital doesn't seem to be getting any better yet,
and he's evidently fretting about his rugs. They're probably all he's
got in the world. So this afternoon they telephoned up from the
hospital to say he wanted me to send down one in particular, the
thinnest one of them all. That's this one!"

She showed it to him, her fingers feeling its edge. There was wonder
in his mind that the mere contact of it did not tell her of its
worth.

"I'm afraid it's the one you wanted to buy," she said. "The one you
said was worth thirty rubles. Well, of course, it's his, and since he
wanted it I had to get it for him. I couldn't do anything else, could
I, Mr. Baruch?"

Mr. Baruch agreed.

"It is very kind treatment," he approved. "So now you pack it in a
parcel and take it to the hospital before you go back to find Mr.
Selby's paper yes? Mr. Selby will be glad."

A pucker of worry appeared between the girl's frank brows and she
fell swiftly to folding and packing the rug.

"If if only he hasn't left the office before I got there!" she
doubted.

Mr. Baruch picked up the string and prepared to assist with the
packing.

"Perhaps he will not be gone," he said consolingly. "He was so angry
I think the paper would be important, and he would stay to find it
yes?" Miss Pilgrim did not seem cheered by this supposition. "Well,"
said Mr. Baruch then, "if it should be a help to you and the poor
man, I can take this parcel for you and leave it in the gate of the
hospital when I go past this evening."

He had a momentary tremor as he made the proposal, but it was not
doubt that it would be accepted or fear lest his purpose should show
through it. He felt neither of these; it was the thrill of victory
that he had to keep out of his tone and his smile.

For it was victory. Miss Pilgrim beamed at him thankfully.

"Oh, Mr. Baruch, you are kind!" she cried. "I didn't like to ask you,
but you must be a thought reader. If you'd just hand it in for Doctor
Semianoff, he'll k