orking girls," says she, "who are victims of the white
plague. We take them up to Piny Crest and cure them."

"Of working?" says I.

"Of the plague," says she. "It is going to be the grandest thing I've
done yet. And I have the names of such a lot of the most interesting
cases; poor creatures, you know, who are suffering in the most wretched
quarters. I do hope they will last until the station is finished. It
means finding a new lot, if they don't, and the public organizations are
becoming so active in that sort of thing, don't you see?"

Somehow, I don't catch it all, she puts over her ideas so fast; but I
gather that she'd like to have me come up prompt with my little old
two-fifty so she can get busy givin' out the contracts. Seein' me still
hangin' back, though, she's willin' to spend a few minutes more in
describin' some of the worst cases, which she proceeds to do.

"We estimate," says Miss Ann as a final clincher, "that the average cost
is about fifty dollars per patient. Now," and she sticks the subscription
list into my fist, "here is an opportunity! Do you wish to save five
human lives?"

Ever had it thrown into you like that? The sensation is a good deal like
bein' tied to a post and havin' your pockets frisked by a holdup gang.
Anyway, that's the way I felt, and then the next minute I'm ashamed of
havin' any such feelings at all; for there's no denyin' that dozens of
cases like she mentions can be dug up in any crowded block. Seems kind of
inhuman, too, not to want chip in and help save 'em. And yet there I was
gettin' grouchy over it, without knowin' why!

"Well," says I, squirmin' in the chair, "I'd like to save five hundred,
if I could. How many do you say you're going to take care of up at this
new place?"

"Sixty," says she. "I select the most pitiful cases. I am taking some
things to one of them now. I wish you could see the awful misery in that
home! I could take you down there, you know, and show you what a squalid
existence they lead, these Tiscotts."

"Tiscotts!" says I, prickin' up my ears. "What Tiscotts? What's his first
name?"

"I never heard the husband mentioned," says Miss Ann. "I doubt if there
is one. The woman's name, I think, is Mrs. Anthony Tiscott. Of course,
unless you are really interested----"

"I am," says I. "I'm ready to go when you are."

That seems to jar Miss Colliver some, and she tries a little shifty
sidestepping; but I puts it up to her as flat as she had hand