fter two days of hesitation, I presented myself this
morning at the Globe office. I was shown to the Employment Bureau, and
there, through a little grating, I was interviewed by a young clerk of
supernatural composure. He had a cool discerning eye that seemed to
read my very soul, and take in my situation and errand at a glance.
I produced the Globe letter as the simplest method of introducing
myself.

He looked at me with his discriminating expression. "Let me
see," he murmured. "We have had three thousand applications since
the day before yesterday, and our list is complete. But six
feet--blonde--good-looking--distinguished, in fact"--he bit the
handle of his pen meditatively. His air of reflection changed to one
of decision. "Just follow me, please," he concluded.

I followed him through a dim passage to a little room where there was
a piano with some music on it. Standing beside the piano was a small
dark man, rubbing his hands and bowing politely as we entered. It
reminded me of one of the torture chambers of the Inquisition. What
were they going to do to me?

The chief inquisitor, in the shape of the clerk, began the ceremonies
by saying: "I suppose you would not have come here without being able
to fill the requirements of the Globe circular. Be kind enough to sit
down and sing and play that song."

It proved to be "In the Gloaming." I was in good voice, and managed to
sing it with some expression.

"Bravo!" said the second inquisitor, in the shape of the little dark
man.

He then took me in hand. He proved to be an Italian, and asked me
questions in Italian and French, in both of which languages I answered
as well as I could. I was then obliged to sing pathetic songs,
drinking songs, comic songs, opera bouffe, English ballads, and
then--worse than all--requested to recite some dramatic poetry. Here I
was at sea. I confessed that I knew none.

"Never mind," said the clerk, encouragingly; "you have done remarkably
well in other respects, and you can easily learn the regulation
pieces."

He handed me a list, beginning with "Curfew shall not ring To-night"
and "The Charge of the Light Brigade," and ending with "Betsy and I
are Out" and "The May Queen." I choked down my rising resentment. What
wouldn't I do for fifteen dollars an evening, short of crime?

"Very well," I said, obediently.

I was led out of the torture chamber, exhausted, but still living. It
is queer. I feel shaky. I had to give them my