ever lived, or that she owed her unique experience to
Tanko-Mankie's love of mischief. So ignorance gave her a confidence
in herself that she was not justly entitled to.

It was yet early in the day, and the few people she met were
hurrying along the streets. Many of them turned into restaurants and
eating houses, and following their example the wax lady also entered
one and sat upon a stool before a lunch counter.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" said a shop girl on the next stool.

"Coffee 'n' rolls!" repeated the dummy, and soon the waiter placed
them before her. Of course she had no appetite, as her constitution,
being mostly wood, did not require food; but she watched the shop
girl, and saw her put the coffee to her mouth and drink it.
Therefore the wax lady did the same, and the next instant was
surprised to feel the hot liquid trickling out between her wooden
ribs. The coffee also blistered her wax lips, and so disagreeable
was the experience that she arose and left the restaurant, paying no
attention to the demands of the waiter for "20 cents, mum." Not that
she intended to defraud him, but the poor creature had no idea what
he meant by "20 cents, mum."

As she came out she met the window trimmer at Floman's store. The
man was rather near-sighted, but seeing something familiar in the
lady's features he politely raised his hat. The wax lady also raised
her hat, thinking it the proper thing to do, and the man hurried
away with a horrified face.

Then a woman touched her arm and said:

"Beg pardon, ma'am; but there's a price-mark hanging on your dress
behind."

"Yes, I know," replied the wax lady, stiffly; "it was originally
$20, but it's been reduced to $19.98."

The woman looked surprised at such indifference and walked on. Some
carriages were standing at the edge of the sidewalk, and seeing the
dummy hesitate a driver approached her and touched his cap.

"Cab, ma'am?" he asked.

"No," said she, misunderstanding him; "I'm wax."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and looked after her wonderingly.

"Here's yer mornin' paper!" yelled a newsboy.

"Mine, did you say?" she asked.

"Sure! Chronicle, 'Quirer, R'public 'n' 'Spatch! Wot'll ye 'ave?"

"What are they for?" inquired the wax lady, simply.

"W'y, ter read, o' course. All the news, you know."

She shook her head and glanced at a paper.

"It looks all speckled and mixed up," she said. "I'm afraid I can't
read."

"Ever ben to school?" asked the boy, becoming intere