ot again the same girl of the shadows. Her response to
life seeming thwarted, there came an incipient sullenness in her view of
that life which she had reached over the bridge of make-believe.

It did not show itself at once, but afterward it seemed to Katie that the
next day marked the beginning of Ann's retreat on the bridge of
make-believe.

And she wondered whether the stray dog or the dangerous literature had
most to do with that retreat.

Ann was pale and quiet the day after the dance, and it was not merely the
languor of the girl who has fatigued herself in having a good time.

At luncheon Katie suddenly demanded: "Wayne, where do you get dangerous
literature?"

"I don't know what form of danger you're courting, Katie. I have a
valuable work on high explosives, and I have a couple of volumes of De
Maupassant."

"Oh I weathered all that kind of danger long ago," said she airily. "I
want the kind that is distressing editors of church papers. The man who
edits this religious paper uncle sends me is a most unchristian
gentleman. He devoted a whole page to talking about dangerous literature
and then didn't tell you where to get it. Well, I'll try Walt Whitman.
He's very popular in the West, I'm told, and as the West likes danger
perhaps he's dangerous enough to begin on."

"And you feel, do you, Katie, that the need of your life just now is
for danger?"

"Yes, dear brother. Danger I must have at any cost. What's the good
living in a dangerous age if you don't get hold of any of the danger?
This unchristian editor says that little do we realize what a dangerous
age it is. And he says it's the literature that's making it so. Then find
the literature. Only he--beast!--doesn't tell you where to."

Worth there requested the privilege of whispering in his Aunt Kate's ear.
The ear being proffered, he poured into it: "I guess the man that mends
the boats has got some dangerous literature, Aunt Kate."

"Tell him to endanger Aunt Kate," she whispered back.

"Do you suppose there is any way, Wayne," she began, after a moment of
seeming to have a very good time all to herself, "of getting back the
money we spent for my so-called education?"

"It would considerably enrich us," grimly observed Wayne.

"When doctors or lawyers don't do things right can't you sue them and
get your money back? Why can't you do the same thing with educators? I'm
going to enter suit against Miss Sisson. This unchristian editor says
moder