ot," I told myself. "Joe's case and mine are not the
same. The magazines aren't like the papers and I'm not like Joe. His
idea of the truth and mine will never be anywhere near alike."

But what would Eleanore think of it? I went home and told her of my
plan. To my surprise she made no objection.

"It's the best thing you can do," she said. "We're in this now--on
account of Sue--we can't keep out. And so long as we are, you might as
well write about it, too. You think so much better when you're at
work--more clearly--don't you--and that's what I want." She was looking
at me steadily out of those gray-blue eyes of hers. "I want you to think
yourself all out--as clearly as you possibly can--and then write just
what you think," she said. "I want you to feel that I'm never afraid of
anything you may ever write--so long as you're really sure it's true."

I held her a moment in my arms and felt her tremble slightly. And then
she said with her old quiet smile:

"Sue has asked us over to Brooklyn to-night--Joe Kramer is to be there,
too."

"That affair is moving rather fast."

"Oh yes, quite fast," she said cheerfully.

"How will Dad look at it?" I asked.

"As you did," said Eleanore dryly. "He'll look at it and see nothing at
all."

"I've half a mind to tell him!"

"Don't," she said. "If you did he would only get excited, become the
old-fashioned father and order Sue to leave Joe alone--which would be
all that is needed now to make Sue marry Joe in a week."

"Sue is about as selfish," I said hotly, "about as wrapped up in her own
little self----"

"As any girl is who thinks she's in love but isn't sure," said Eleanore.
"Sue isn't sure--poor thing--she's frightfully unsettled."

"But why drag Joe way over there?"

"Because she wants to look at him there. It's her home, you know, her
whole past life, all that she has been used to. It's the place where she
has breakfast. She wants to see how Joe fits in."

"But they'd never live _there_ if they married!"

"Nevertheless," said Eleanore, "that's one of the ways a girl makes up
her mind." She looked pityingly into my eyes. "Women are beyond
you--aren't they, dear?" she murmured.

"J. K. isn't," I rejoined. "And I can't see him in _any_ home!"

"Can't you! Then watch him a little closer the next time he comes to
ours."

I went out for a walk along the docks and tried to picture the coming
strike. When I came home I found Joe there, he had come to go with us to