u owe me," Bobs said.

"All right; much obliged."

Jane hesitated a moment, then took it with a bow, and went to the door.

"Good-night, Jane Judd," said Bobs.

"Good-night," the woman answered mechanically.

"Night," said Jerry, searching for cigarettes among his impedimenta.

"Queer creature, that," Bobs mused.

"What's that?"

"Jane Judd. What do you suppose she thinks of us all?"

"God knows, and I care as little as He does."

"I care. I'd like to know her. She's like steel, clean-cut, shining,
efficient, silent, unbreakable."

"Is she? I've never noticed," said Jerry indifferently.

"She knows all our secrets, our economies, our loves, and hates. She
mends us up, keeps us in order. Jane Judd is the law and order of our
set. She glides among us, and we say everything we know before her, as
if she were a wall."

"Gog and Magog! Do I have to listen to you ramble on about Jane Judd?
She interests me about as much as a Wheeler and Wilson sewing machine.
Come on to dinner."

Bobs rose and stretched herself luxuriously, with a yawn.

"Man is the most incomprehensible animal evolved from protoplasm," she
remarked.

"That remark doesn't seem to have any point, Bobs, but I suppose it
has."

"Thanks. From now on, I suppose only Bible allusions will have point to
you."

"Well, there's nothing Biblical about Jane Judd."

"Humph! She might be the dim and vasty void out of which creation
sprang."

"Good Lord!" cried Jerry, turning out the light. He took her by the
elbow and led her out, closing the door on that conversation.

CHAPTER II

Jane Judd, in her old brown coat and a hat of many seasons flown, walked
slowly from Macdougal Alley toward the model tenement house where she
shared a flat with a family by the name of Biggs, and had what is known
as "light housekeeping privileges." The English of this elegant phrase
was, that, before or after the Biggs family had disposed of its meals,
Jane could slip into the kitchen and prepare her repast. She disliked
the arrangement intensely, but on the whole she preferred it to any
boarding-house which she could afford.

No matter how tired she was after her day's work in the various studios,
she always enjoyed this walk home, with the misty lights, the
far-distant vista of the sky at the street ends. She speculated about
the people she passed; sometimes she stopped to watch the children
shouting and playing in the streets. She never spoke to them bu