ome tea, Lena--green, remember. The beans won't
cost more than twelve cents. I don't see how you can have a new hat."

"Well, give me ten cents, anyway," Lena answered with unexpected
submission.

"What do you want it for?"

"Please, mammy," Lena said coaxingly. "I won't buy cream-cakes or
anything to eat. I want to invest in a gold mine."

Mrs. Quincy gave her a sharp look and grudgingly handed out a dime; for
Lena's voice was instinct with hope, and hope was such a rare visitor in
the dingy little lodgings that Mrs. Quincy grew generous under its
magnetic warmth.

"Now what'd you want that ten cents for?" she asked curiously when the
girl came back. "My land! Only paper and pencil? I thought you was going
to do something grand."

CHAPTER VII

LENA'S PROGRESS

About a month after Lena had made her investment in the raw materials of
the writer's art, Dick Percival happened to drop into the sooty and
untidy office where for more than a year Norris had been engaged in
manufacturing public opinion.

"Hello!" he cried as he opened the door. Then he stood transfixed at the
vision that met his sight, for a very blond and fuzzy head was bent over
Ellery's desk and a very startled pair of blue eyes was raised to meet
his own. There stood a rosebud dressed in gray. Is there anything more
demure and innocent than a pinky girl in a mousy gown? Dick's hat came
off and a deferential look replaced the careless one.

"Hello, yourself!" said Norris. "You announce yourself like a telephone
girl. Come in. What do you mean by troubling the quiet waters of my
daily toil?"

"I beg your pardon," said Dick politely. "If you are busy I--"

"That's all right. Miss Quincy and I can postpone our confab without
inconveniencing the order of the universe." Miss Quincy was already
gathering her notes, and she smiled at Dick in a half-shy way that said,
"I remember you very plainly." As she disappeared slowly down the hall,
Dick started after her.

"Great Scott, Ellery!" he ejaculated. "How you have lied to me about the
grubbiness of your work! If this is your daily grind, I don't mind
having a whirl at the editorial profession myself."

Norris laughed.

"It isn't the sum total of my duties," he said.

"Who is Hebe?" asked Dick.

"Well, she's rather a problem," Ellery replied. "I believe she appeared
a few weeks ago at Miss Huntress' office--the woman editor, you
know--with a catchy little article on fashions. It happene