n it would be inhuman to put the poor thing out now. In a few
days she will be able to move. I am going to send a woman immediately,
and you won't have the slightest trouble."

"For any little matter of extra expense, Mrs. Milliken, I will see that
you are properly compensated," I added.

Had I been alone, Mrs. Milliken would probably have argued the matter
for an hour, at the end of which I should have retired in defeat. But I
think Frieda's size overawed her. She only stammered rather weakly that
she knew it would all end badly.

"Don't mind her, David," said my friend, as we went out. "You can't
expect the keeper of a cheap boarding-house to be an optimist. Her
prediction may or not come true, but no one thinks that the bit of
humanity upstairs can turn the world topsy-turvy for some time."

I felt greatly relieved and followed her towards the river, where, just
west of Ninth Avenue, we found a tenement on the fourth floor of which
there was a sort of rabbit-hutch where dwelt two women and a bevy of
infants. I remained on the landing, while Frieda went in. Some of the
children came out and contemplated me, all with fingers in their mouths.
Remembering that I had changed a nickel on the previous evening, while
waiting for Gordon, in order to obtain a cent's worth of assorted
misinformation from my favorite paper, I pulled out the four remaining
pennies and distributed them. By the infants my action was accepted as
gentlemanly and urbane, I think, for they no longer considered me as a
suspicious character and the gravity of their expressions changed into a
look of unstinted approval.

"It's all right," said Frieda, coming out in a cloud of soapy steam.
"She'll go at once. Putting her hat on now. Come along. I'm hungry as a
hyena."

So I breakfasted with her at her flat. She had certainly worked much
harder than I, during the night, and taken a great deal more out of
herself, but she insisted on my sitting down while she juggled with a
gas-stove and bacon and eggs and a pot of jam. Her coffee, I thought,
was better than mine. At eight o'clock we parted at the corner of the
street.

"I must hurry along," she said. "I have an appointment with a man who
can pose as Orion."

I had time but for a few words of heartfelt thanks before she was in the
middle of the avenue, waving a hand to the motorman of her car. She
scrambled aboard, smiling at me cheerfully from the step, and I was
alone, wondering at the luck of a