ow."

"I'd like to accompany you," Penny said quickly. "There's something I
want to talk to you about."

Amy Coulter looked surprised at such a response, but offered no
comment. The girls devoted their conversation to casual subjects as
they walked toward the rooming house.

Presently they paused before a drab looking building in a quiet street.
Amy offered no apology as she led Penny up four flights of stairs to a
tiny room on the top floor.

Penny noticed that Amy had arranged the cheap furniture to the best
advantage. The gay home-made curtains at the window, bright pillows
and an India cloth thrown over a battered old table, showed a nice
appreciation of color values. The walls were attractive with fine
paintings and etchings and in one corner of the room stood a box of
statues and ceramics.

"You have some lovely things," Penny remarked admiringly.

"The paintings were done by my father. You may have heard his
name--Eli Coulter."

"Why, he was famous as an artist and sculptor!" Penny exclaimed. "You
are his daughter?"

"Yes, but few persons are aware of it. A name is forgotten so soon."
Unknowingly, Amy sighed. "My father was quite noted at the time of his
death. That was only four years ago. It seems a century."

"Your father's paintings will never be forgotten," Penny assured her
earnestly. "They will always be treasured."

"I hope so. Father really sacrificed himself to his art. He died in
poverty."

"You have had a difficult time since then?" Penny asked kindly.

"Yes, but I have no complaint. I shall manage to get along and I
derive a real joy from my sculptoring."

"Your father taught you, I suppose?"

"All that I know I learned from him. But I can never equal his work."

"That remains to be seen," Penny smiled. "You are only starting your
career."

"I haven't been able to sell any of my work. I am getting very
discouraged. I had hoped to win the five thousand dollar Huddleson
prize, but I failed."

"You should have won," Penny declared loyally. "Your entry was by far
the best."

"The judge didn't think so."

"Who is Hanley Cron anyhow?" Penny scoffed. "Just a newspaper art
critic! Do you consider him an authority?"

"No, I don't," Amy returned. "It was rather odd that he was named
judge of such an important contest."

"You see, it doesn't mean a thing."

"The five thousand dollars would have meant something," Amy smiled
ruefully. "I could use it to pay my