ll do it
to-day," she added hurriedly, "this afternoon, if you wish. It is
valuable. I can get enough on it to keep me for a month."

"Till we find that job for you," he suggested, brightening.

She agreed, with a momentary flash of her wonderful smile.

"And you will let me drop in this evening and take you to dinner?"

"No, thank you. But--" again she relented--"you may come in for an hour
at eight."

"I believe you _are_ a crowned head," murmured Laurie, discontentedly.
"That's just the way they do in books. When I come I suppose I must
speak only when I'm spoken to. And when you suddenly stand up at nine,
I'll know the audience is over."

She laughed softly, her red-brown eyes shining at him. Her laughter was
different from any other laughter he had ever heard.

"Good-by," she repeated.

He helped her out of the cab and escorted her into the studio building,
where he rang the elevator bell and waited, hat in hand, until the car
came down. When it arrived, Sam was in it. Before it stopped he had
recognized the waiting pair through the open ironwork of the door. To
Laurie, the elevator and Sam's jaw seemed to drop in unison.

The next instant the black boy had resumed his habitual expression of
indifference to all human interests. Dead-eyed, he stared past the two
young things. Dead-eared, he ignored their moving lips. But there was
fellowship in the jocund youth of all three. In an instant when Laurie
stepped back into the hall as the car shot upward, the eyes of negro and
white man flashed a question and an answer:

In Sam's: "You done took her out an' fed her?"

In Laurie's: "You bet your boots I did!"

CHAPTER VI

LAURIE SOLVES A PROBLEM

Laurie walked across the square to his own rooms. A sudden gloom had
fallen upon him. He saw himself sitting in his study, gazing remotely at
his shoes, until it was time to dress for the evening and his formal
call on Doris.

The prospect was not attractive. He hoped Bangs would be at home. If so,
perhaps he could goad him into one of the rages in which Bangs was so
picturesque; but he was not sure of even this mild diversion. Rodney had
been wonderfully sweet-tempered the past three days, though preoccupied,
as if in the early stages of creative art. Laurie half suspected that he
had begun work on his play. The suspicion aroused conflicting emotions
of relief and half-jealous regret. Why couldn't the fellow wait till
they could go at it together? He i