their red grapple the great armies of the world.

Then a sudden remorse came to Annie. She put out a hand to Mary
Warren's arm. "Don't mind, Sis," said she. "Plenty more besides your
brother is gone. Lookit here."

"He was all I had," said Mary simply, her lips trembling.

"Yes, I know. But what's up to-night, Mollie? You're still. Anything
gone wrong at the store?" She was looking at her room-mate keenly.
This was their regular time for mutual review and for the restoring
gossip of the day.

"Well, you see, Annie, they told me that times were hard now after the
war, and more girls ready to work." Mary Warren only answered after a
long time. A passenger, sitting near, was just rising to leave the car.

Annie also said nothing for a time. "It looks bad, Mollie," said she,
sagely.

Mary Warren made no answer beyond nodding bravely, high-headed. Ten
dollars a week may be an enormous sum, even when countries but now have
been juggling billions carelessly.

They were now near the end of their daily journey. Presently they
descended from the car and, bent against the icy wind, made their way
certain blocks toward the door which meant home for them. They clumped
up the stairs of the wooden building to the third floor, and opened the
door to their room.

It was cold. There was no fire burning in the stove--they never left
one burning, for they furnished their own fuel; and in the morning,
even in the winter time, they rose and dressed in the cold.

"Never mind, dear," said Annie again, and pushed Mary down into the
rocking chair as she would have busied herself with the kindling. "Let
me, now. I wish't coal wasn't so high. There's times I almost lose my
nerve."

A blue and yellow flame at last began back of the mica-doored stove
which furnished heat for the room. The girls, too tired and cold to
take off their wraps, sat for a time, their hands against the slowly
heating door. Now and again they peered in to see how the fire was
doing.

Mary Warren rose and laid aside her street garb. When she turned back
again she still had in her hands the long knitting needles, the ball of
yellowish yarn, the partially knitted garment, which of late had been
so common in America.

"Aw, Sis, cut it out!" grumbled Annie, and reached to take the knitting
away from her friend. "The war's over, thank God! Give yourself a
chanct. Get warm first, anyways. You'll ruin your eyes--didn't the
doctor tell you so