do it, but we succeeded." Flora curtsied, started back and
returned. "And when I utter these sentiments, sir, I speak also for the
Union of Precocious Magazine Children, which is represented here by Mary
Sparks." Mary Sparks, a dark-haired miss with dancing eyes, bowed
saucily.

"Step out, Fritz Hackenschneider," said Helen, and flaxen-haired Fritz,
radiantly holiday-like in his lustrously washed face and large, blue
polka-dot tie, approached the mayor's chair.

"I don't have much to say, sir," he recited in a nervous, jerky voice.
"I have been sent by the Fraternal Association of Comic Supplement
Children. We wish to raise our voice against the almost universal
conception that people can be made to laugh only when one of us hides a
pin on the seat of grandpa's chair. The burden of an entire nation's
humour is more than we can sustain. Thank you, sir," and he retired into
the background, giving, as he passed, just one tug at Mary Sparks's hair
and eliciting a suppressed scream.

"Mamie O'Farrell," called out Helen. The mayor found it impossible to
decide whether Mamie was thirteen or twenty-five. She was very short
and flat-chested, and the colour of her face in the firelight was like a
dull cardboard. She wore a long, faded automobile cloak and an enormous
black hat with a trailing green feather. On a gilt chain about her neck
hung a locket in the form of a heart half as large as the one that beat
uneasily within her. Mamie came forward reluctantly and saluted. Then
she began to squirm from side to side and to shift from foot to foot,
giggling in unfathomable embarrassment.

"Well," said Helen, in a voice that was not at all unkind.

Mamie's giggle grew worse. She seemed bent on snapping the massive gilt
chain with twisting it back and forth, and finally gave up the whole
case. "You tell it, Helen," she begged. "I forgot wot I was goin' t'
say. I'm scared poifectly stiff."

Helen complied. "May it please your Honour, Mamie O'Farrell wants me to
say that she represents the Amalgamated Union of Cash Girls and Juvenile
Cotton Mill and Glass Factory Operatives. Mamie is fifteen. She works
eleven hours a day and receives three and a half dollars a week. She
passes two hours every day clinging to a strap in a crowded surface car.
She carries her lunch in a paper bundle together with a copy of Laura M.
Clay's novel entitled 'Irma's Ducal Lover.' Saturday nights, if her
father has been strong enough to pass Murphy's salo