fter day stirring molten masses in a huge pot on a red-hot
range.

It was sometime before they were taken seriously, and, particularly
after the enthusiasm of their friends waned, there was a time of hard
anxious struggle. But they were robust and determined, and in time
they launched out as caterers and worked up a first-class business.
They took their confections to the rear entrances of their friends'
houses on festive occasions and accepted both pay and tips with lively
gratitude. They educated their younger brothers and lost their
arrogance. They never lost their friends.

Owing to dishonest fiction the impression prevails throughout the
world that "Society" is heartless and that the rich and well-to-do
drop their friends the moment financial reverses force them either to
reduce their scale of living far below the standard, or go to work.
When that happens it is the fault of the reversed, not of the
entrenched. False pride, constant whining, or insupportable
irritabilities gradually force them into a dreary class apart. If
anything, people of wealth and secure position take a pride in
standing by their old friends (their "own sort"), in showing
themselves above all the means sins of which fiction and the stage
have accused them, and in lending what assistance they can. Even when
the head of the family has disgraced himself and either blown out his
brains or gone to prison, it depends entirely upon the personalities
of his women whether or not they retain their friends. In fact any
observant student of life is reminded daily that one's real position
in the world depends upon personality, more particularly if backed by
character. Certainly it is nine-tenths of the battle for struggling
women.

Another woman whom I always had looked upon as a charming butterfly,
but who, no doubt, had long shown her native shrewdness and
determination in the home, stepped into her husband's shoes when he
collapsed from strain, abetted by drink, and now competes in the
insurance business with the best of the men. But she had borne the
last of her children and she has perfect health.

Galsworthy's play, _The Fugitive_, may not have been good drama but it
had the virtue of provoking thought after one had left the theater.
More than ever it convinced me, at least, that the women of means and
leisure with sociological leanings should let the working girl take
care of herself for a time and devote their attention to the far more
hopel