interesting, highly intelligent, and a clever talker. That's his one
fault. When he is interested in a thing he spouts all over the place."

"Really?" said Mrs. Boyd. "Well, talk would be a change here. He sounds
kind of pleasant. Who is he?"

"This paragon of beauty and intellect sits before you," said Willy
Cameron.

"You'll have to excuse me. I didn't recognize you by the description,"
said Mrs. Boyd, unconsciously. "Well, I don't know. I'd like to have
this dog around."

Even Edith laughed at that. She had been very silent all evening,
sitting most of the time with her hands in her lap, and her eyes on
Willy Cameron. Rather like Jinx's eyes they were, steady, unblinking,
loyal, and with something else in common with Jinx which Willy Cameron
never suspected.

"I wouldn't come, if I were you," she said, unexpectedly.

"Why, Edie, you've been thinking of asking him right along."

"We don't know how to keep a house," she persisted, to him. "We can't
even cook--you know that's rotten coffee. I'll show you the room, if you
like, but I won't feel hurt if you don't take it, I'll be worried if you
do."

Mrs. Boyd watched them perplexedly as they went out, the tall young man
with his uneven step, and Edith, who had changed so greatly in the last
few weeks, and blew hot one minute and cold the next. Now that she had
seen Willy Cameron, Mrs. Boyd wanted him to come. He would bring new
life into the little house. He was cheerful. He was not glum like Dan or
discontented like Edie. And the dog--She got up slowly and walked over
to the chair where Jinx sat, eyes watchfully on the door.

"Nice Jinx," she said, and stroked his head with a thin and stringy
hand. "Nice doggie."

She took a cake from the plate and fed it to him, bit by bit. She felt
happier than she had for a long time, since her children were babies and
needed her.

"I meant it," said Edith, on the stairs. "You stay away. We're a poor
lot, and we're unlucky, too. Don't get mixed up with us."

"Maybe I'm going to bring you luck."

"The best luck for me would be to fall down these stairs and break my
neck."

He looked at her anxiously, and any doubts he might have had, born of
the dreariness, the odors of stale food and of the musty cellar below,
of the shabby room she proceeded to show him, died in an impulse to
somehow, some way, lift this small group of people out of the slough of
despondency which seemed to be engulfing them all.

"Why, what's t