necessary to her scheme of
things, she's Scotch and terribly thrifty, with a dash of nearness, but
you tell her that _I_ say you'll be the making of her."

Joan laughed and darted away to array herself in her best.

"What am I supposed to do there?" she asked. Her brightness and gaiety
had returned.

"Oh! any one of your accomplishments. Of course it was merely a matter
of making things jibe. Elspeth only telephoned about the tea room this
morning."

"You mean I am to wait on tables or cook?" asked Joan, somewhat daunted.

"Lord, child, no! Here, wait. On second thought, I'll go with you. I
might have known you couldn't put it over. Watch me!"

Sylvia was worth watching as she pulled her tam o' shanter over her
head, her face all aglow.

"I've undervalued your 'samples,' as you call them, my lamb," she
chatted on. "Of course you must take lessons and be a legitimate
something some day--a singer, I fancy, but in the meantime we must
utilize what we have."

On the way through the frosty streets Sylvia grew more mystifying.

"It's putting the _punch_ in these days that counts, Joan. You are to
be--the punch. Eats are all right in their way, but folks do not live by
bread alone; they flourish--or tea rooms do--on punch."

Joan, running along beside Sylvia, accepted the rambling talk without
question. Her acquaintance with tea rooms was limited, but she had
caught Sylvia's mood.

"Just imagine," Sylvia was a bit breathless; "a cold, dreary afternoon
outside--a warm, bright tea room with enchanting tables drawn close to
an open fire, and someone--you, my lamb--singing a ballad, when there is
a lull--in the offings! Why, Elspeth is as good as _made_ if she has the
wit to grab you--and Elspeth is no fool."

Joan began to see the opening ahead.

"Oh!" she drawled--the word lasted a half block and ended in a mocking
laugh.

"Could I dance in costume?" she asked, tossing her head, "or tell
fortunes as I used to at school? Do you remember, Syl, how I went to the
kitchen door, once, and took the maids all in, and then Miss Tibbetts
came down to see what was going on, and I read her palm--and----" but
here Joan stopped short physically. "What's the matter, Syl?" she said.

"Why, of course!" Sylvia was regarding Joan impartially. "They might
object to having you break in on their silly tea-talk, the police might
raid the place if you danced--but palm reading! Oh! my dear, you've
struck it in the dark. Hurry!"

An