Mr. Jones had purchased for himself in Chicago a new trunk--a small and
inexpensive one--and there were two big trunks and a suitcase belonging
to Alora. After these had been carried up and placed in the studio--the
only room that would hold them--her father said:

"We will go out now and get some dinner. You won't need your coat, for
the restaurant is just around the corner."

Alora marveled at the restaurant even more than at the studio
furnishings. It looked a hundred years old and the atmosphere still
retained the fumes of much ancient cookery. The linen was coarse, the
plating worn from the forks and spoons through constant use, the dishes
thick and clumsy and well nicked. Alora was hungry and she ate what her
father ordered for her, although she decided it did not taste very
nice.

When they sat down a man from behind the counter approached them and
bending low said in a quiet tone:

"You know, Jones, it's to be a cash deal from now on."

"Of course," replied Alora's father, with a slight frown. "Also I'll
pay you the old account, if you'll make out the bill."

The man smiled, patted Alora's head--a liberty she indignantly
resented--and went back to his desk.

During the meal and, indeed, ever since their arrival in New York,
Jason Jones cast frequent puzzled glances into the face of his little
daughter, who until now had accepted her changed conditions with
evident indifference. But as they ate together in silence her small
features grew grave and thoughtful and her father shrank from meeting
the inquiring glances of her big eyes. Yet even now she made no
complaint. Neither did she ask questions. Her look was expectant,
however, and that was what embarrassed him.

After the dinner they went back to the dingy studio, where the man
lighted a pipe and sat opposite his small daughter, puffing uneasily.
They were both reserved; there was an indefinable barrier between them
which each was beginning to recognize. Presently Alora asked to go to
bed and he sent her to her room with a nod of relief.

Next morning they had breakfast at the same stuffy little restaurant
and afterward Alora unpacked some things from her trunks and put them
in the drawers of the broken-legged dresser. It seemed odd to have no
maid to wait upon her, but she was glad to have something to do. As she
passed to and from the studio she noticed that her father had resumed
work on a picture that represented two cows eating a broken pumpkin