like a million-dollars worth of
peaches an' cream." Mary with the receiver to her ear heard the subtle
compliment of those mixed metaphors.

Smitherton finished pasting a clipping into the blank place in a
type-written page and rose slowly.

"Well?" he inquired shortly. "What is it? This is Smitherton."

At once he recognized the voice which replied, and recognized that it
came faintly and full of indecision.

"This is Mary Burton, Mr. Smitherton. Do you--do you think you could
still find me work in vaudeville?"

"Oh!" The reporter's office brusqueness fell away, and his tone
changed. He knew that this was the girl's last stand, and that she had
not admitted its necessity until every other effort had failed, every
path of escape closed. "I don't think, Miss Burton," he assured her, "I
am certain."

"Do you think--" the voice was even fainter--"it would be possible to
get just a little money--some sort of advance--soon--tomorrow?"

"Leave that to me," he confidently commanded. "Just give me your
address--and I'll be at your place in the morning."

Mary slept little that night. Against her windows screamed and whined
the wind, driving a swish of fine, hard snow in its breath. From two
rivers came the dull groaning of the fog horns. But the storm which kept
her eyes hot and sleepless was one within her own breast.

Over and over again she told herself that the work for which she was
volunteering was in no wise disgraceful. Probably many women who were
her superiors were doing it with willingness, even with warrantable
pride. It would mean for her mother, as the reporter had reminded her,
comfort and competent nursing. Perhaps, in surroundings of greater ease,
her father might even yet rehabilitate himself into a manlier old age.
Save to serve them her own life was already lived out.

But the shudder of disgust would return despite her efforts at its
banishment and shake her like a chill. In her case it was not
vaudeville--and it was only lying to herself to call it so. No manager
was considering the payment of a salary to her for anything she could
legitimately do. It was what Smitherton had described it, capitalizing
the publicity of a misfortune so sweeping as to possess a morbid public
interest. In whatever generosity of terms her contract was drawn its
essential meaning would be that in ten-and a hundred-fold it would come
back to the management for that one reason. It would so come because
people would fl