erences. I worked for the best fam'lies in this town, ever since I
was a child. You needn't be a mite afraid. I'm just a plain mother of a
fam'ly an', believe _me_, you can trust me as you would trust one of
your own relations, though I do say it as shouldn't, knowin' how queer
_own relations_ can be and _is_, when put to it at times. So, if you
happen to be in a hole, my dear, without friends or such things in the
city, you feel free to turn to, or if you seem to stand in need of a
word of advice, or--anything else, why, dontcher hesitate a minute. It'd
be a pretty deep hole Martha Slawson couldn't see over the edge of, be
sure of that, even if she did have to stand on her toes to do it. Holes
is my specialty, havin' been in an' out, as you might say, all my
life--particularly _in_."

Judicious or not, Claire told her story. It was not a long one. Just
the everyday experience of a young girl coming to a strange city,
without influence, friends, or money, expecting to make her way, and
finding that way beset with difficulties, blocked by obstacles.

"I've done everything I could think of, honestly I have," she concluded
apologetically. "I began by trying for big things; art-work in editorial
offices (everybody liked my art-work in Grand Rapids!). But 'twas no
use. Then I took up commercial drawing. I got what looked like a good
job, but the man gave me one week's pay, and that's all I could ever
collect, though I worked for him over a month. Then I tried real estate.
One firm told me about a woman selling for them who cleared, oh, I don't
know how-much-a-week, in commissions. Something queer must be the matter
with me, I guess, for I never got rid of a single lot, though I walked
my feet off. I've tried writing ads., and I've directed envelopes. I've
read the Wants columns, till it seems as if everybody in the world was
looking for a _job_. But I can't get anything to do. I guess God doesn't
mean me to die of starvation, for you wouldn't believe how little I've
had to eat all summer and fall, and yet I'm almost as strong and hearty
as ever. But lately I haven't been able to make any money at all, not
five cents, so I couldn't pay my board, and they--they told me at the
house where I live, that I'd have to square up to-night, or I couldn't
keep my room any longer. They took my trunk a week ago. I haven't had
anything to wear except these clothes I have on, since, and they're
pretty wet now--and--and--I've nowhere to go,