nted more of her. After the performance no fewer than a dozen
men asked the producer why he didn't give that little girl with the
black hair more of a chance.

The next night she was commanded to repeat the trick. Then they
permitted her to do it over in the "encore." Before the end of a
fortnight she was doing a dance with the comedian, exchanging lines
with him. Then a little individual song-and-dance specialty was
introduced. At the close of the engagement on Broadway she announced
that she would not sign for the next season unless given a "ripping"
part and the promise to be featured.

That was three years ago. Now she was the feature in the big, musical
comedy success, "Up in the Air" and had New York at her feet. The
critics admitted that she saved the "piece" in spite of composer and
librettist. Some one is always doing that very thing for the poor
wretches, Heaven pity them.

Nellie was not only pretty and sprightly, but as clever as they make
them. She never drew the short straw. She had a brain that was quite
as active as her feet. It was not a very big brain; for that matter,
her feet were tiny. She had the good sense to realise that her brain
would last longer than her feet, so she got as much for them as she
could while the applause lasted. She drove shrewd bargains with the
managers and shrewder ones with Wall Street admirers, who experienced
a slim sense of gratification in being able to give her tips on the
market, with the assurance that they would see to it that she didn't
lose.

She put her money into diamonds as fast as she got it. Some one in the
profession had told her that diamonds were safer than banks or
railroad bonds. She could get her interest by looking at them and she
could always sell them for what she paid for them.

The card on the door of her cosey apartment bore the name, "Miss
Nellie Duluth."

There was absolutely nothing inside or outside the flat to lead one to
suspect that there was a Mr. Duluth. A husband was the remotest figure
in her household. When the management concluded to put her name in the
play-bill, after the memorable Jack-in-the-Box leap, she was requested
to drop her married name, because it would not look well in print.

"Where were you born?" the manager had asked.

"Duluth."

"Take Duluth for luck," said he, and Duluth it was. She changed the
baptismal name Ella to Nellie. At home in Blakeville she had been
called Eller or Ell.

Her apartment was an a