d a tumbled bed. A
kitchen, dismantled and dreary, faced her.

"The agent gave me five dollars for all I left," the woman said, "I
don't know which of us got the best o' the bargain. Now, about you.
Where do you live? I s'pose they're looking for you right now while
we're talking. Do you know where you left the automobile?"

"Oh, yes." Caroline stared frankly about her. "Wasn't there a man in
here? Where did he go?"

The woman grunted out a sort of laugh. "If you're not the limit!"
she murmured. She stepped to the door of the kitchen, looked in, and
beckoned to Caroline.

"I suppose you heard him carrying on," she said, "he's in there.
Poor fellow, he's all worn out."

Caroline peered into the kitchen. With his rough, unshaven face
resting on his arms, his hair all tossed about, his face drawn in
misery, even in his heavy sleep, a young man sat before a table,
half lying on it, one hand on a soiled plate still grasping a piece
of bread.

"Is he sick?" whispered Caroline.

"N--no, I wouldn't say sick, exactly, but I guess he'd be almost as
well off if he was," said the woman. "It would take his mind off.
He's had a lot of trouble."

The man scowled in his sleep and clenched his hand, so that the
bread crumbled in it.

"And so I won the prize," he muttered, "just as I told her I would.
Did I have any pull? Was there any favoritism? No--you know it as
well as I do--it was good work won that prize!"

"Was it a bridge prize?" Caroline inquired maturely. The woman
stared.

"A bridge prize?" she repeated vaguely. "Why, no, I guess not. It
was for writing a story for one of those magazines. He won a
thousand dollars."

The man opened his eyes suddenly.

"And if you don't believe it," he said, still in that strange
sing-song voice, "just read that letter."

He pulled a worn, creased sheet from an inner pocket and thrust it
at Caroline.

"It's typewritten," he added, "it's easy enough to see if I'm lying.
Just read it out."

Caroline glanced at the engraved letter-heading and began to read in
her careful, childish voice:

MY DEAR MR. WILLISTON:

_It is with great pleasure that I have to announce the fact that
your story, "The Renewal," has been selected by the judges as
most worthy of the thousand-dollar prize offered by us._

The woman snatched the paper from her hand.

"The idea!" she cried, "let the child alone, Mr. Williston! Don't
you see she's lost?"

The man dropped like a st