s beard and threw out
his chest like a mammoth pouter pigeon--"you'll have to give us a
sensible answer before we let you go one step. You know you can't
expect to get very far with that--in this city," and he tapped the
bag on her wrist significantly.

Patsy flushed crimson. For the first time in her life, to her
knowledge, the world had discovered more about her than she had
intended. Those humiliating eight dollars, seventy-six cents, and the
crooked sixpence seemed to be scorching their way through the leather
that held them. But she met the eyes looking into hers with a flinty
resistance.

"Sure, 'twould carry me a long way, I'm thinking, if I spent it by
the ha'penny bit." Then she laughed in spite of herself. "If ye don't
look for all the world like a parcel of old mother hens that have
just hatched out a brood o' wild turkeys!" She suddenly checked her
Irish--it was apt to lead her into compromising situations with
Anglo-Saxon folk, if she did not leash her tongue--and slid into
English. "You see, I really know quite a number of people
here--rather well--too."

"Why haven't they come to see you, then?" asked the day nurse,
bluntly.

Patsy eyed her with admiration. "You'd never make a press agent--or a
doctor, I'm afraid; you're too truthful."

"You see," explained the old doctor, "these friends of yours are what
we professional people term hypothetical cases. We'd like to be sure
of something real."

One of Patsy's vagabond gloves closed over the doctor's hand. "Bless
you all for your goodness! but the people are more real than you
think. Everybody believes I went back with the company and I never
bothered them with the truth, you see. I've more than one good friend
among the theatrical crowd right here; but--well, you know how it is;
if you are a bit down on your luck you keep away from your own world,
if you can. There is a girl--just about my own age--in society here.
We did a lot for her in the way of giving her a good time when she
was in Dublin, and I've seen her quite a bit over here. I'm going to
her to get something to do before the season begins. She may need a
secretary or a governess--or a--cook. Holy Saint Martin! but I can
cook!" And Patsy clasped her hands in an ecstatic appreciation of her
culinary art; it was the only one of which she was boastful.

"I'll tell you what," said the old doctor, gruffly, "we will let you
go if you will promise to come back if--if no one's at home. It's
ag