of what we'd all thought was such a deep, dark mystery.

She was English, Mrs. Truckles was, and so was the late Truckles. They'd
worked together, him bein' a first class butler whose only fault was he
couldn't keep his fingers off the decanters. It was after he'd struck the
bottom of the toboggan slide and that thirst of his had finished him for
good and all that Mrs. Truckles collects her little Katy from where
they'd boarded her out and comes across to try her luck on this side.

She'd worked up as far as housekeeper, and had made enough to educate
Katy real well and marry her off to a bright young gent by the name of
McGowan that owned a half interest in a corner saloon up in the Bronx and
stood well with the district leader.

She was happy and contented in them days, Mrs. Truckles was, with McGowan
doin' a rushin' business, gettin' his name on the Tammany ticket, and
Katy patronizing a swell dressmaker and havin' a maid of her own. Then,
all of a sudden, Mrs. Truckles tumbles to the fact that Katy is gettin'
ashamed of havin' a mother that's out to service and eatin' with the
chauffeur and the cook. Not that she wants her livin' with them,--McGowan
wouldn't stand for that,--but Katy did think Mother might do something
for a living that wouldn't blur up the fam'ly escutcheon quite so much.

It was just when Mrs. Truckles was feelin' this most keen that the French
governess where she was got married and went West to live, leavin' behind
her, besides a collection of old hats, worn out shoes, and faded picture
postals, this swell reference from Lady Jigwater. And havin' put in a
year or so in France with dif'rent families that had taken her across,
and havin' had to pick up more or less of the language, Mrs. Truckles
conceives the great scheme of promotin' herself from the back to the
front of the house. So she chucks up as workin' housekeeper, splurges on
the wig, and strikes a swell intelligence office with this phony
reference.

Course, with anybody else but an easy mark like Mrs. Pinckney, maybe she
wouldn't have got away with it; but all Geraldine does is glance at the
paper, ask her if she likes children, and put her on the payroll.

"Well?" says I. "And it got you some worried tryin' to make good, eh?"

"I was near crazy over it," says she. "I thought I could do it at first;
but it came cruel 'ard. Oh, sir, the lies I've 'ad to tell, keepin' it
up. And with the rest of the 'elp all 'ating me! Marie used me