d her first feeling of intimidation was
passing away.

"Um!" grunted Ryder, "you're a curious girl; upon my word you
interest me!" He took the mass of papers lying at his elbow and
pushed them over to her. "Here," he said, "I want you to make as
clever a book out of this chaos as you did out of your own
imagination."

Shirley turned the papers over carelessly.

"So you think your life is a good example to follow?" she asked
with a tinge of irony.

"Isn't it?" he demanded.

The girl looked him square in the face.

"Suppose," she said, "we all wanted to follow it, suppose we all
wanted to be the richest, the most powerful personage in the
world?"

"Well--what then?" he demanded.

"I think it would postpone the era of the Brotherhood of man
indefinitely, don't you?"

"I never thought of it from that point of view," admitted the
billionaire. "Really," he added, "you're an extraordinary girl.
Why, you can't be more than twenty--or so."

"I'm twenty-four--or so," smiled Shirley.

Ryder's face expanded in a broad smile. He admired this girl's
pluck and ready wit. He grew more amiable and tried to gain her
confidence. In a coaxing tone he said:

"Come, where did you get those details? Take me into your
confidence."

"I have taken you into my confidence," laughed Shirley, pointing
at her book. "It cost you $1.50!" Turning over the papers he had
put before her she said presently: "I don't know about this."

"You don't think my life would make good reading?" he asked with
some asperity.

"It might," she replied slowly, as if unwilling to commit herself
as to its commercial or literary value. Then she said frankly: "To
tell you the honest truth, I don't consider mere genius in
money-making is sufficient provocation for rushing into print. You
see, unless you come to a bad end, it would have no moral."

Ignoring the not very flattering insinuation contained in this
last speech, the plutocrat continued to urge her:

"You can name your own price if you will do the work," he said.
"Two, three or even five thousand dollars. It's only a few months'
work."

"Five thousand dollars?" echoed Shirley. "That's a lot of money."
Smiling, she added: "It appeals to my commercial sense. But I'm
afraid the subject does not arouse my enthusiasm from an artistic
standpoint."

Ryder seemed amused at the idea of any one hesitating to make five
thousand dollars. He knew that writers do not run across such
opportunities every