d girl, he knew that it was time to
look out for another.

If the manager had forewarned her, she could have saved money enough to
take her back to Iowa, where she might dare to be as friendly as she
pleased with other respectable humans without fear of reproach. But he
was not such a fool as to let go of one cashier till he had found
another. It was while the manager was deciding which of three other
young women to take that Mr. Drupe was stricken with apoplexy. He had
finished eating his luncheon, which was served in the apartment, and
had lighted a cigar, when he fell over. There were no children, and the
Drupes kept no servant, but depended on the housekeeper to send them a
maid when they required one, so that Mrs. Drupe found herself alone
with her prostrate husband. The distracted wife did not know what to
do. She took hold of the needle of the teleseme, but the words on the
dial were confused; she quickly moved the needle round over the whole
twenty-four points, but none of them suited the case. She stopped it at
"porter," moved it to "bootblack," carried it around to "ice water,"
and successively to "coupe," "laundress," and "messenger-boy," and then
gave up in despair, and jerked open the door that led to the hall. Miss
Wakefield had just come up to the next apartment to inquire after a
little girl ill from a cold, and was returning toward the elevator when
Mrs. Drupe's wild face was suddenly thrust forth upon her.

"Won't you call a boy--somebody? My husband is dying," were the words
that greeted Miss Wakefield at the moment of the apparition of the
despairing face.

Miss Wakefield rushed past Mrs. Drupe into the apartment, and turned
the teleseme to the word "manager," and then pressed the button three
times in quick succession. She knew that a call for the manager would
suggest fire, robbery, and sudden death, and that it would wake up the
lethargic forces in the office. Then she turned to the form of the man
lying prostrate on the floor, seized a pillow from the lounge, and
motioned to Mrs. Drupe to raise his head while she laid it beneath.

"Who is your doctor?" she demanded.

"Dr. Morris; but it's a mile away," said the distracted woman. "Won't
you send a boy in a coupe"

"I'll go myself, the boys are so slow," said the cashier. "Shall I send
you a neighboring doctor till Dr. Morris can get here?"

"Do! do!" pleaded the wife, now wildly wringing her hands.

Miss Wakefield caught the elevator as