ers to earn a living."

At the end of this somewhat agitating day I returned to my tenement
lodgings as to a haven of rest. There was one other lodger besides
myself: she was studying music on borrowed money at four dollars a
lesson. Obviously she was a victim to luxury in the same degree as the
young women with whom I had lunched at the bakery. Nothing that a rich
society girl might have had been left out of her wardrobe, and borrowed
money seemed as good as any for making a splurge.

Miss Arnold was something of a snob, intellectual and otherwise. It was
evident from my wretched clothes and poor grammar that I was not
accustomed to ladies of her type, but, far from sparing me, she
humiliated me with all sorts of questions.

"I'm tired of taffeta jackets, aren't you?" she would ask, apropos of my
flimsy ulster. "I had taffeta last year, with velvet and satin this
winter; but I don't know what I'll get yet this summer."

After supper, on my return, I found her sitting in the parlour with Mrs.
Brown. They never lighted the gas, as there was an electric lamp which
sent its rays aslant the street and repeated the pattern of the window
curtains all over Mrs. Brown's face and hands.

Drawn up on one end of the horsehair sofa, Miss Arnold, in a purple
velvet blouse, chatted to Mrs. Brown and me.

"I'm from Jacksonville," she volunteered, patting her masses of curly
hair. "Do you know anybody from Jacksonville? It's an elegant town, so
much wealth, so many retired farmers, and it's such an educational
centre. Do you like reading?" she asked me.

"I don't get time," is my response.

"Oh, my!" she rattles on. "I'm crazy about reading. I do love blank
verse--it makes the language so choice, like in Shakespeare."

Mrs. Brown and I, being in the majority as opposed to this autocrat,
remain placid. A current of understanding exists between us. Miss
Arnold, on the other hand, finds our ignorance a flattering background
for her learning and adventures. She is so obviously a woman of the
world on the tenement horsehair sofa.

"In case you don't like your work," she Lady Bountifuls me, "I can get
you a stylish place as maid with some society people just out of
Chicago--friends of mine, an elegant family."

"I don't care to live out," I respond, thanking her. "I like my Sundays
and my evenings off."

Mrs. Brown pricks up her ears at this, and I notice that thereafter she
keeps close inquiry as to how my Sundays and evenings