and left the room. I felt that I had lost my
Last Friend.

I did not try the keys myself, but instead stood off a short distance
and through them through the window. I learned later that they struck
Mr. Beecher on the head. Not knowing, of course, that I had flung them,
and that my reason was pure Friendliness and Idealizm, he through them
out again with a violent exclamation. They fell at my feet, and lay
there, useless, regected, tradgic.

At last I summoned courage to speak.

"Can't I do somthing to help?" I said, in a quaking voice, to the
window.

There was no anser, but I could hear a pen scraching on paper.

"I do so want to help you," I said, in a louder tone.

"Go, away" said his voice, rather abstracted than angry.

"May I try the keys?" I asked. Be still, my Heart! For the scraching had
ceased.

"Who's that?" asked the beloved voice. I say `beloved' because an Ideal
is always beloved. The voice was beloved, but sharp.

"It's me."

I heard him mutter somthing, and I think he came to the Door.

"Look here," he said. "Go away. Do you understand? I want to work. And
don't come near here again until seven o'clock."

"Very well," I said faintly.

"And then come without fail," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Beecher," I replied. How commanding he was! Strong but tender!

"And if anyone comes around making a noise, before that, you shoot them
for me, will you?"

"SHOOT them?"

"Drive them off, or use a Bean-shooter. Anything. But don't yell at
them. It distracts me."

It was a Sacred trust. I, and only I, stood between him and his MAGNUM
OPUM. I sat down on the steps of our bath-house, and took up my vigel.

It was about five o'clock when I heard Jane approaching. I knew it was
Jane, because she always wears tight shoes, and limps when unobserved.
Although having the reputation of the smallest foot of any girl in our
set in the city, I prefer Comfort and Ease, unhampered by heals--French
or otherwise. No man will ever marry a girl because she wears a small
shoe, and catches her heals in holes in the Boardwalk, and has to soak
her feet at night before she can sleep. However----

Jane came on, and found me croutched on the doorstep, in a lowly
attatude, and holding my finger to my lips.

She stopped and stared at me.

"Hello," she said. "What do you think you are? A Statue?"

"Hush, Jane," I said, in a low tone. "I can only ask you to be quiet and
speak in Whispers. I cannot give the reason."

"Goo