imply one of a million stenographers."

"Oh, well, you aren't satisfied to take things just as they're handed to
you. Most people are, and they stick in a rut and wonder who put them
there. All this success business is a mystery--listen to how successful
men trip themselves up and fall all over their foolish faces when they
try to explain to a bunch of nice, clean, young clerks how they stole
their success. But I know you'll get it, because you aren't satisfied
easily--you take my work and do it. And yet you're willing to work in
one corner till it's time to jump. That's my failing--I ain't willing to
stick."

"I--perhaps---- Here's the flat."

"Lord!" he cried; "we _got_ to walk a block farther and back."

"Well--"

They were stealing onward toward the breeze from the river before she
had finished her "Well."

"Think of wasting this hypnotizing evening talking of success--word that
means a big house in Yonkers! When we've become friends, Goldie, little
Goldie. Business of souls grabbing for each other! Friends--at least
to-night! Haven't we, dear? haven't we?"

"Oh, I hope so!" she whispered.

He drew her hand into his pocket and clasped it there. She looked shyly
down. Strange that her hand should not be visible when she could feel
its palm flame against his. She let it snuggle there, secure.... Mr.
Walter Babson was not a young man with "bad prospects," or "good
prospects"; he was love incarnate in magic warm flesh, and his hand was
the hand of love. She was conscious of his hard-starched cuff pressing
against her bare arm--a man's cuff under the rough surface of his man's
coat-sleeve.

He brought her back to the vestibule of the flat. For a moment he held
both her arms at the elbow and looked at her, while with a panic fear
she wondered why she could not move--wondered if he were going to kiss
her.

He withdrew his hands, sighed, "Good-night, Goldie. I won't be lonely
to-night!" and turned abruptly away.

Through all of Mrs. Golden's long, sobbing queries as to why Una had
left her alone all evening Una was patient. For she knew that she had
ahead of her a quiet moment when she would stand alone with the god of
love and pray to him to keep her boy, her mad boy, Walter.

While she heard her voice crisply explaining, "Why, you see, mother
dear, I simply had to get some work done for the office--" Una was
telling herself, "Some day he _will_ kiss me, and I'm _not_ sorry he
didn't to-night--not now any m