it and presently noticed something just taking shape. It was
exactly like watching one of these moving picture cartoons being put
together. First an arm came out, then a bit of sleeve of a stiff white
shirtwaist, then a leg and a plaid skirt, until at last there she was
complete,--whoever she was.

She was long and angular, with enormous fishy eyes behind big
bone-rimmed spectacles, and her hair in a tight wad at the back of her
head (yes, I seemed able to see right through her head) and a jaw--well,
it looked so solid that for the moment I began to doubt my very own
senses and believe she was real after all.

She came over and stood in front of me and glared--yes, positively
glared down at me, although (to my knowledge) I had never laid eyes on
the woman before, to say nothing of giving her cause to look at me like
that.

I sat still, feeling pretty helpless I can tell you, and at last she
barked:

"What are you gaping at?"

I swallowed, though I hadn't been chewing anything.

"Nothing," I said. "Absolutely nothing. My dear lady, I was merely
waiting for you to tell me why you had come. And excuse me, but do you
always come in sections like this? I should think your parts might get
mixed up sometimes."

"Didn't you send for me?" she crisped.

Imagine how I felt at that!

"Why, no. I--I don't seem to remember----"

"Look here. Haven't you been calling on heaven and earth all afternoon
to help you write a story?"

I nodded, and then a possible explanation occurred to me and my spine
got cold. Suppose this was the ghost of a stenographer applying for a
job! I had had an advertisement in the paper recently. I opened my mouth
to explain that the position was filled, and permanently so, but she
stopped me.

"And when I got back to the office from my last case and was ready for
you, didn't you switch off to something else and sit there driveling so
I couldn't attract your attention until just now?"

"I--I'm very sorry, really."

"Well, you needn't be, because I just came to tell you to stop bothering
us for assistance; you ain't going to get it. We're going on Strike!"

"What!"

"You don't have to yell at me."

"I--I didn't mean to yell," I said humbly. "But I'm afraid I didn't
quite understand you. You said you were----"

"Going on strike. Don't you know what a strike is? Not another plot do
you get from us!"

I stared at her and wet my lips.

"Is--is that where they've been coming from?"

"Of c