. Make up your mind and do what you
think is best. Then don't be a quitter--when I start a thing I always
see it through. Give me a girl with backbone every time. I glory in your
spunk!"

"Oh, I got the spunk, all right, Loo." They linked arms and went through
the little bedroom into the parlor. At the door Miss Tracy lingered.

"Your flat's got the room beat by a long shot; but I always say it don't
make no difference whether you live in a palace or a cottage, just so
you're happy. Gimme one room and what I want, and you can have all your
swell marble-entrance apartments. Ain't that right?"

"You've hit it, Loo. Take this here red parlor set--when me and Charley
went down to pick it out I couldn't hardly wait till we got it up in the
flat; and now just look! I can't look red plush in the face no more."

"That's the way of the world," said Loo. She sucked in her breath and
cluck-clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"I'll be over about eight, then--after he goes."

"All right. Bring what you need, and send for the other stuff. You
better put in a party dress; we might get a date for to-night, for all I
know. You know you always brought me luck when it come to dates. I ain't
had a chum since that could bring them round like you."

"Oh, Loo! I ain't thinkin' about such things."

"Sure you ain't; but it won't hurt you to know you're livin', will
it?--and to chaperon your friend?"

"No," admitted Lil.

"Well, so long! I'll see you later. Don't let on to Charley I was over.
He ain't got no truck for me."

They embraced.

"Good-by for a little while, Loo."

"Good-by, dearie."

Lilly watched her friend pass down the narrow hall, then she closed the
door. Left alone, she crossed to the window and leaned out well beyond
the casement--a _Demoiselle_ whose three lilies were despair, anger, and
fear. The stagnant air, savored with frying pork, weighted her down with
its humidity; her brow puckered into tiny lines.

Do not, reader, construe this setting too lightly. The most pungent
essay in all literature is devoted to the succulency of roast pig;
Sappho was most lyric after she had rubbed her wine goblet with
garlic-flavored ewe meat. But such kindly reflection was not
Lilly's--fleshpots and life alike were unsavory.

The Nottingham lace curtains hung limp and motionless round her, and
waves of heat deflected from the asphalt came up heavy as fog. Three
stories beneath, Third Avenue spluttered on t