I'm
not. You're going to let me have it now regular, aren't you?"

Before Terence could answer, Ellen O'Brien, who was seated on the far
side of the table, presumably studying the pothooks of stenography,
called out suddenly: "Ma! Ma! Come here! Quick!"

Mrs. O'Brien appeared at once. She was still nursing the baby to sleep,
but no matter. Whenever her oldest child called, Mrs. O'Brien came.

"Say, Ma, I think it's disgraceful the way Terry's letting Rosie sell
papers. If I was you I just wouldn't allow it! It's awful for a girl to
sell papers!"

Rosie's heart sank. Was this comfortable income of twenty cents a week
now, at the last moment, to be snatched from her?

"Aw now, Mama," she began; "it's only right around here where every one
knows me, honest it is! This is the end of Terry's route and he gets
here so late that if I don't help him he'll lose his customers, won't
you, Terry?"

Rosie appealed to Terence, but Terence was busy scowling at his older
sister. "Say, Ellen O'Brien, what do you think you are? You mind your
own business or I'll give that pompadour of yours a frizzle!"

Ellen concentrated on her mother: "I don't care, Ma! You just mustn't
let her! How do you think I'd feel going into a swell office some day,
hunting a job, and have the man say, no, he didn't want any common
newsgirls around!"

For a moment every one was silent, overcome by the splendour of that
imagined office. Then Terence broke into a jeer:

"Aw, forget it! If Rosie was to make her living selling papers, who'd
know about it downtown? And if some one from downtown did see her, how
would they know she was your sister? Say, Sis, it's time for you to go
shine your nails!"

"Now, Ma, just listen to that! I wish you'd make Terry stop always
making fun of me! Haven't I got to keep my hands nice if ever I'm going
to be a stenog?"

Mrs. O'Brien tried hard to restore a general peace: "Terry lad, you
mustn't be talkin' that way to your sister. P'rhaps what Ellen says is
right. I dunno. We'll see what himself says when he comes in."

The young O'Briens were used to having their mother refer to their
father as one to decide all sorts of vexed questions. When he was out of
the house he seemed the person to appeal to. When, however, Jamie
O'Brien was at home, no one ever heeded him in the least. He would come
in tired and silent from his run and, after sitting about in
shirtsleeves and socks long enough to smoke a pipe, would slip quie