Why, us girls over at the shop, we read these things regular," she
rattled on in explanation, her mouth full. "Some of the girls answer
these ads--it's lots of fun. You ought to see what some of the men
write back. Look at this one, Sis!" said she, chuckling. "Some class
to it, eh?" She pointed to an advertisement a trifle larger than its
fellows, a trifle more boldly displayed in its black type.

"Wanted: A Wife. A well-to-do and chivalrous rancher of abundant means
and large holdings in a Western State wishes to correspond with a
respectable young woman who will appreciate a good home and loving
care. Object--Matrimony."

"How ridiculous," said Mary Warren simply.

"Uh huh! Is it, though? I don't know. I put this thing to my ear,
and it sort of sounded as if there was something behind it. That
fellow wants a woman of his own to keep house for him. Out there women
are scarce. It's supply and demand, Sis, same as in your store. Well,
here's a man looking for goods. So'm I. I've been looking him over
for myself, because I ain't as strong for Charlie Dorenwald as I might
be, even if he's foreman. He talks so damn much Bolshevik, somehow.
Of course, the country's rotten, but it's ours! Still and all, I'll
tell you what I'll do, Sis, with you!"

She pulled her chair up to the side of her companion, fumbling in her
little purse as she did so; drew out a copper coin and held it balanced
between her fingers.

"'The one shall be taken and the other left,' Sis," said she. "Two
women, grinding at the mill, the same little old mill, as the Bible
said; and 'The one shall be taken and the other left.' Which one? One
throw, Mary. Heads or tails. It's got to hit the ceiling before it
falls."

"Why, nonsense, Annie---- No, no!"

"Heads or tails!" insisted Annie Squires; and as she spoke she flipped
the coin against the ceiling. It rolled toward the street window,
where neither of them at first could see it.

"Tails!" called Mary Warren faintly, suddenly. It seemed to her she
heard some other voice, speaking for her, without her real volition.

"You're on!" said Annie. They both rose and walked toward the darker
side of the room.

"I can't see," said Mary. "Strike a match."

Annie did so, and they both bent over the coin.

"Tails--you win!" said Annie Squires. "Well, what do you know about
that?"

She was half in earnest about her chagrin--half in earnest as she
spoke. "I'd saved him fo