ation, since the rooms for permanent guests were occupied; and
with a list provided her by the secretary, she went out one afternoon to
secure a suitable boarding place. The first and only house she entered
was in charge of a thin, meager woman, the type of Miss Witherspoon, but
with a more domineering manner and a flatter bust. The room for rent had
a red carpet which smelt moldy, and brilliantly painted blue walls.
Hertha hated it at once, but with difficulty succeeded in leaving
without renting it, so persistent was the person in charge. Indeed, she
only escaped with the proviso that she might look in again.

Once in the street, her confidence returned and she resolved to have
nothing to do with this or any other cheap boarding place. In so immense
a city it must be possible to find an attractive home.

She looked no further that day, and in the evening, standing in the
office, she saw a large, fine looking Irish woman come up to the desk.
Laughing and talking to a friend, her cheeks pink with her exertions
from the gymnasium, her gray eyes glowing, Kathleen seemed the exact
opposite of the disturbing landlady of the afternoon. "I know I'm
bothering you, Miss Jones," she began, addressing the secretary, who was
insignificant beside her, "but it's what you like. You couldn't be happy
if you didn't have a dozen girls wanting you at once. What I'm after is
some one to share my flat with me this winter. The boss has sent my
brother to Chicago, where they need his work more than they do here.
Hard luck for me, for he was bringing in a good wage! And now I've a
little flat and only myself in it. Is there any girl here, do you think,
would like a bedroom and the use of a kitchen and parlor? I'd let her
have it for fifteen dollars a month."

Hertha was standing at the end of the desk, quite by Miss Jones's elbow.
She expected that the secretary would introduce them, but instead Miss
Jones looked down, moved some papers, and handed an elaborately ruled
card for Kathleen to fill.

The Irishwoman took it up clumsily. "You fill it in," she said. "It's
Kathleen O'Connor, 204 East 8th Street, fourth floor. I'll be home
to-morrow night to any one who comes."

When she had gone Hertha asked for the address, explaining that she
would like to see the room.

"Would you?" Miss Jones questioned, looking her over as though to place
her again. "I thought of you, but did not know whether it was what you
desired. It's rather a poor nei