he listened. A material kept plastic
by years of manipulation does not harden to a new hand. Her objections
to Floss's plan grew fainter and fainter.

"Think of the theaters," went on the temptress, putting an arm around
her neck, and ignoring the fact that caresses embarrassed Miss Lucinda
almost to the point of tears; "think of it! A new show every night, and
operas and pictures. There will be three Shakspere plays that week,
'Merchant of Venice,' 'Twelfth Night,' and 'Hamlet.'"

Miss Lucinda's heart fluttered in her bosom. Although she had spent a
great part of her life interpreting the Bard of Avon, she had never seen
one of his plays produced. In her secret soul she believed that her own
rendition of "The quality of mercy," was not to be excelled.

"I--I haven't any clothes," she urged feebly, putting up her last
defense.

"I have," declared Floss in triumph--"two trunks full, and we are almost
the same size. It's just for a week, Miss Lucy; won't you come?"

Miss Lucinda, sitting rigid, felt a warm cheek pressed against her own,
and a stray curl touched her lips. She sat for a moment with her eyes
closed. It was more than disconcerting to be so close to youth and joy
and life; it was infectious. The blood surged suddenly through her
veins, and an exultation seized her.

"I'm going to do it," she cried recklessly; "I never had a real good
time in my life."

Floss threw her arms about her and waltzed her across the room, but a
step in the hall brought them to a halt.

"It's Miss Joe Hill," whispered Floss, with trepidation; "I am going out
the way I came. Don't you forget; you have promised."

When Miss Joe Hill entered, she smiled complacently at finding Miss
Lucinda in the straight-back chair, absorbed in the second volume of the
"Power Through Poise."

At the Union Depot in Chicago, two weeks later, a small, nervous lady
fluttered uncertainly from one door to another. She wore a short, brown
coat suit of classic severity, and a felt hat which was fastened under
her smoothly braided hair by a narrow elastic band.

On her fourth trip to the main entrance she stopped a train-boy. "Can
you tell me where I can get a drink?" she asked, fanning her flushed
face. He looked surprised. "Third door to the left," he answered. Miss
Lucinda, carrying a hand-bag, a suit-case, and an umbrella, followed
directions. When she pushed open the heavy door she was confronted by a
long counter with shining glasses and a smi