he address. You remember hearin' about the Countess, maybe? She
was Miss Mae Collins, of Kansas City, originally, and Zecchi was either
the second or third of her hubbies, or hobbies, whichever you'd care to
call 'em. A lively, flighty female, Countess Zecchi, who lives in a
specially decorated suite at the Plutoria, sports a tiger cub as a pet,
and indulges in other whims that get her more or less into the
spotlight.

Her particular hunch on this occasion was that she must have her
portrait done by a real Bohemian artist, and offhand she gives F. Hallam
the job.

"You must paint me as Psyche," says she. "I've always wanted to be done
as Psyche. Can't we have a sitting tomorrow?"

Hallam was almost too thrilled for words, but he managed to gasp out
that she could. So he reports sick to his boss, blows in all his spare
cash buyin' a big mirror and draperies to fix up a Psyche pool in the
studio, and decides that at last luck has turned. For three days the
Countess Zecchi shows up reg'lar, drapes herself in pink tulle, and
Hallam paints away enthusiastic.

Then she don't come any more. For a week she stalls him off and finally
tells him flat that posing as Psyche bores her. Besides, she's just
starting south on a yachting party. The portrait? Oh, she doesn't care
about that. She hadn't really given him a commission, just told him he
might paint her. And he mustn't bother her by calling up again.
Positively.

So Hallam hits the earth with a dull thud. He reports back on the
advertisin' job and groans every time he thinks how much he spent on the
mirror and big canvas. He'd been let in, that's all. But he finishes up
the Psyche picture durin' odd times. He even succeeded in unloadin' it
on some dealer who supplies the department stores, so he quits about
square.

Then an odd thing happens. At the advertisin' agency there's a call from
a big customer for a picture to go with a Morning Glory soap ad. It's a
rush order, to be done in six colors. Hallam has a bright little
thought. Why wouldn't his Psyche picture fit in? The boss thinks it's
worth lookin' up, and an hour later he comes back from the dealer's with
the trade all made. And inside of three weeks no less than two dozen
magazines was bindin' in a full page in colors showin' the fair form of
the Countess Zecchi bendin' over a limpid pool tryin' to fish out a cake
of Morning Glory soap. It was a big winner, that ad. The soap firm
ordered a hundred thousand copi