clares that the typewriter put ribbon in her hair. Laura Van Dorn, I
believe, is responsible for Violet's shirt waists. Henry Fenn comes to
the office twice a day, to make reports on the sewing business. But what
he's really doing, George, is to let her smell his breath to prove that
he's sober, and so she runs the two jobs at once. Have you seen Henry
recently?"

"Well," replied Brotherton, "he was in a month or so ago to borrow ten
to buy a coat--so that he could catch up with the trousers of that suit
before they grew too old. He still buys his clothes that way."

Grant threw back his red head and grinned a grim, silent grin: "Well,
that's funny. Didn't you know what is keeping him away?" Again Grant
grinned. "The day he was here he came wagging down with that ten-dollar
bill, but his conscience got the best of him for lavishing so much money
on himself, so he slipped it to Violet and told her to buy her some new
teeth--you know she's been ashamed to open her mouth now for years.
Violet promised she would get the teeth in time for Easter. And pretty
soon in walks Mrs. Maurice Stromsky--who scrubs in the Wright & Perry
Building, whose baby died last summer and had to be buried in the
Potter's field--she came in; and she and Violet got to talking about the
baby--and Violet up and gave that ten to Mrs. Stromsky, to get the baby
out of the Potter's field."

Mr. Brotherton laughed his great laugh. Grant went on:

"But that isn't all. The next day in walks Mrs. Maurice Stromsky,
penitent as a dog, and I heard her squaring herself with Violet for
giving that old saw-buck of yours to the Delaneys, whose second little
girl had diphtheria and who had no money for antitoxin. I never saw your
ten again, George," said Grant. "It seemed to be going down for the last
time." He looked at Brotherton quizzically for a second and asked:

"So old Henry hasn't been around since--isn't that joyous? Well--anyway,
he'll show up to-day or to-morrow, for he's got the new coat; he got it
this morning. Jasper was telling me."

In an hour Grant, returning after his morning's errands, was standing by
the puny little blaze that John Dexter had stirred out of the logs in
the Serenity. The two were standing together. Mr. Brotherton, reading
his Kansas City paper at his desk, called to them: "Well, I see Doc
Jim's still holding his deadlock and they can't elect a United States
Senator without him!"

A telegraph messenger boy came in, looked in