"Let me know what train you're making and I'll come and see you off."

"That's ripping of you. Right ho. Well, so long."

"So long," said Sally.

Mrs. Fillmore, who had been sitting in that state of suspended animation
which comes upon people who are present at a telephone conversation
which has nothing to do with themselves, came to life as Sally replaced
the receiver.

"Sally," she said, "I think we ought to have a talk now about what
you're going to do."

Sally was not feeling equal to any discussion of the future. All she
asked of the world at the moment was to be left alone.

"Oh, that's all right. I shall manage. You ought to be worrying about
Fillmore."

"Fillmore's got me to look after him," said Gladys, with quiet
determination. "You're the one that's on my mind. I lay awake all last
night thinking about you. As far as I can make out from Fillmore, you've
still a few thousand dollars left. Well, as it happens, I can put you on
to a really good thing. I know a girl..."

"I'm afraid," interrupted Sally, "all the rest of my money, what there
is of it, is tied up."

"You can't get hold of it?"

"No."

"But listen," said Mrs. Fillmore, urgently. "This is a really good
thing. This girl I know started an interior decorating business some
time ago and is pulling in the money in handfuls. But she wants more
capital, and she's willing to let go of a third of the business to
anyone who'll put in a few thousand. She won't have any difficulty
getting it, but I 'phoned her this morning to hold off till I'd heard
from you. Honestly, Sally, it's the chance of a lifetime. It would put
you right on easy street. Isn't there really any way you could get your
money out of this other thing and take on this deal?"

"There really isn't. I'm awfully obliged to you, Gladys dear, but it's
impossible."

"Well," said Mrs. Fillmore, prodding the carpet energetically with her
parasol, "I don't know what you've gone into, but, unless they've given
you a share in the Mint or something, you'll be losing by not making the
switch. You're sure you can't do it?"

"I really can't."

Mrs. Fillmore rose, plainly disappointed.

"Well, you know best, of course. Gosh! What a muddle everything is.
Sally," she said, suddenly stopping at the door, "you're not going to
hate poor old Fillmore over this, are you?"

"Why, of course not. The whole thing was just bad luck."

"He's worried stiff about it."

"Well, give him my love, and te