r than I,' he
replied. 'Surely you've plenty of admirers who'd be willing to put the
money up for you.' What do you think of his impudence? I felt like
slapping his face."

The advance man gave a dry chuckle.

"Up to the old game," he said. "Do you think these people live on the
petty commissions we pay 'em? Not on your life! They gets just such
gals as you to find an angel willing to put up the 'dough'. That's why
there are so many near-actresses on the stage. It isn't talent they
want nowadays, it's money." Changing the subject, he went on: "By the
way, I met an old chum of yours just now. She asked after you----"

"An old chum?" echoed Laura, puzzled.

"Yes--Elfie St. Clair."

The girl's pale face reddened slightly. Involuntarily her manner
stiffened. Indifferently she said:

"I haven't seen her for months. What did she say?"

"She seemed to know things weren't quite right with you. She's a bad
lot, that girl, but she has a good heart. She asked where you lived."

"You didn't tell her, I hope," exclaimed Laura hurriedly.

"Yes, I did," answered the advance man doggedly. "Why shouldn't I?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "She's the last woman in the world I want to
see. I never want to see her again. If she calls I won't see her."
Glancing at the clock, she added: "I must be going. What are you doing
here?"

Weston smiled grimly.

"Wasting time, I guess. Quiller said there might be something to-day.
He's said the same every day for three months past."

"Well, I must go," she said. "Good-bye, I'll probably see you at the
house."

"Yes," he nodded. "Maybe there'll be some good news to tell you, but I
doubt it."

The girl disappeared and Jim resumed his seat, patiently awaiting his
turn to see Mr. Quiller.

CHAPTER X.

Mrs. Farley's establishment was situated on Forty ----th Street,
between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, a neighborhood at one time much in
vogue, but now given up almost entirely to boarding-houses of the
cheaper kind. Old-fashioned brownstone residences, with high ceilings,
cracked walls, dirty, paper-patched windows, and narrow little gardens
choked up with weeds, they were as unattractive-looking from without as
they were gloomy and destitute of comfort within. Yet poverty-stricken
as were the surroundings, the street itself was respectable enough. As
in the case of a homely woman, its very ugliness served to keep its
morals above reproach. Vice required more alluring quarters than the