ra tossed
aside the quilt and sank down in a heap on the bed.

"You can't help me!" she sobbed. "I'm all right--I tell you I am."
Peevishly she demanded: "What do you care, anyway?"

Elfie rose, and going over to the bed, sat down and took her old chum's
hand. Quietly she said:

"But I do care. I know how you feel with an old cat for a landlady, and
living up here on a side street with a lot of cheap burlesque people."
Laura snatched her hand away, and going up to the window, turned her
back. It was a direct snub, but Elfie did not care. Unabashed, she went
on: "Why, the room's cold, and there's no hot water, and you're
beginning to look shabby. You haven't got a job--chances are you won't
have one." Pointing contemptuously to the picture of John Madison over
the bed, she went on: "What does that fellow do for you? Send you long
letters of condolences? That's what I used to get. When I wanted to buy
a new pair of shoes or a silk petticoat he told me how much he loved
me; so I had the other ones re-soled and turned the old petticoat. And
look at you--you're beginning to show it." Surveying her friend's face
more closely, she went on: "I do believe there are lines coming in your
face, and you hide in the house because you've nothing to wear."

Jumping off the bed, Laura went quickly to the dresser, and picking up
the hand mirror, looked carefully at herself. Then laying the glass
down, she turned and faced the other. Sharply she retorted:

"But I've got what you haven't got. I may have to hide my clothes, but
I don't have to hide my face. And you with that man--he's old enough to
be your father--a toddling dote, hanging on your apron strings. I don't
see how you dare show your face to a decent woman!"

It was Elfie's turn now to lose her temper. She rose, flushed with
anger.

"You don't, eh?" she cried hotly. "But you did once, and I never caught
you hanging your head. You say he's old. I know he's old, but he's good
to me. He's making what's left of my life pleasant. You think I like
him. I don't--sometimes I hate him--but he understands; and you can bet
your life his cheque is in my mail every Saturday night, or there's a
new lock on the door Sunday morning."

"How dare you say such things to me?" exclaimed Laura indignantly.

"Because I want you to be square with yourself. You've lost all that
precious virtue women gab about. When you've got the name, I say get
the game."

Almost speechless from anger, Laur