ave to use both lobes of that boasted brain," she laughed.
"What shall I be?"

"Herodias, beautiful wife of King Herod," said Jerry without hesitation.
"We'll give you a costume that will dazzle 'em!"

"You shall paint me in it."

"Delighted."

"This has certainly been a lucky day for me. I'll call the directors in
the morning, Mr. Paxton. We'll make our plans while you work out yours.
Then we'll meet with you, and appoint our committees at once. Can you
begin right away?"

"If I can postpone some portrait sittings. I shall do my best."

"If they are women sitters put them in the pageant, that will keep them
busy. We must have you at once."

"That's an idea. Au revoir. You have given me an eventful afternoon. My
thanks."

As he walked down the avenue toward his studio, Jerry's mind was in a
whirl. The tap of his feet on the sidewalk made a time: "If I put this
through, I've arrived. If I put this through, I've arrived." It was dusk
when he climbed to his quarters and he hummed as he went. He threw open
the door and rushed in. The big room was dark, save in the far corner,
where a lamp was lit, with the shade off, so that an ugly glare lighted
the face of the woman who sat beside it, mending socks.

"Ah, Miss Jane Judd, is that you?"

"Good afternoon," she answered, not looking up.

Jerry sang gaily as he dumped his belongings on the divan. He lit a
cigarette, and laughed aloud involuntarily.

"Have you ever had _delirium tremens_, Miss Judd?" he demanded. She
looked up without reply. "I've got a case right now."

She went on with her work. He glanced at her, marked how the shadow from
the lamp accentuated the bold modelling of her face, bringing out its
mask-like quality.

"I suppose you don't deal much in emotions," he added.

She neither smiled nor answered. He laughed at the idea himself.

"Jane Judd, conversationally, you are about as satisfactory as 'a
bloomin' idol made of mud.'"

"You do not engage me to talk," she answered, in a low rather dull
voice. "You engage me to work."

"So I do, but some day I am going to pay you double rates for your
thoughts. A silent woman is a menace. I'm afraid of you."

A rat-a-tat-tat came on the door.

"Come in," called Jerry gaily.

An odd, boyish-looking girl stuck in her head.

"At home, Jerry? What's the celebration?"

"I've got a job, Bobsie, a big, cash-in-hand kind of a job, and I'm
trying to raise a spark of human response in the frozen buzzu