ere I was. Three weeks ago that was, and--and I haven't heard
from Daddums since."

"Huh!" says I. "Listens like a case of circumstances over which---- But
where did you pick up that trick of speakin' of coppers as bobbies?"

"I beg pardon, Sir?" says she.

"That tells it," says I. "English, ain't you?"

"London, Sir, Brompton Road," says she.

"Been over long?" says I.

"A matter of three months, Sir," says she.

"And what's the name?" says I.

"Mine?" says she. "Helma Allston. And yours, please, Sir?"

I wa'n't lookin' for her to send it back so prompt. She ain't at all
fresh about it, you know: just easy and natural. I don't know when I've
run across a youngster with such nice manners.

"Why," says I, "I guess you can call me Torchy."

"Thank you, Mr. Torchy," says she, doin' a little dancin'-school duck.
"And if you don't mind, I'd like to--to stay here for a minute or two
while I think what I 'd best---- O-o-o-oh!" She sort of moans out this
last panicky and shrinks against the wall.

"Well, what's the trouble now?" says I.

"That's the one!" she whispers husky. "The--the man in the blue cap--the
one who told me about the work papers. He said I was to clear out too."

And by followin' her scared glances I discovers this low-brow store
sleuth scowlin' ugly at her.

"Pooh!" says I. "Only one of them cheap flat-foots. Don't mind him.
You're waitin' with me, you know. Here!" And I reaches down a hand to
her.

Maybe it wa'n't some grateful look Helma flashes up as she slips her
slim, cold little fingers into mine and snuggles up like a lost kitten.
The store sleuth he stares puzzled for a second; but the near-English
top coat must have impressed him, for he goes sneakin' back down the
main aisle.

So here I am, with this freaky little stray under my wing, when Vee
comes sailin' out, all trim and classy in her silver fox furs, with a
cute little hat to match, and takes in the picture. Maybe you can guess
too, how the average young queen in her set would have curled her lip at
sight of that faded cape and oversized cap. But not Vee! She just
indulges in a flickery smile, then straightens her face out and remarks:

"Well, Torchy, I haven't had the pleasure, have I?"

Say, she's a real sport, Vee is, take it from me!

"Guess not," says I. "This is Helma, late of London, just now at large.
It's a case of one's havin' mislaid one's home."

"Oh!" says Vee, a little doubtful. "And one's parents too?"