of considerable dissipation and there was a broad scar underneath her
right eye. Her hair was thin, straggling and tow-colored; her eyes
large, deep-set and of a faded blue. The girl's dress was as queer and
untidy as her personal appearance, for she wore a brown tailored coat, a
short skirt and long, buttoned leggings. A round cap of the same
material as her dress was set jauntily on the back of her head, and over
her shoulder was slung a fiat satchel of worn leather. There was little
that was feminine and less that was attractive about the young woman,
and Patsy eyed her with distinct disfavor.

"Tommy sent me here," said the newcomer, sinking wearily into a chair.
"I'm hired for a month, on good behavior, with a chance to stay on if I
conduct myself in a ladylike manner. I've been working on the _Herald_,
you know; but there was no end of a row last week, and they fired me
bodily. Any booze for sale in this town?"

"It is a temperance community," answered Patsy, stiffly.

"Hooray for me. There's a chance I'll keep sober. In that case you've
acquired the best sketch artist in America."

"Oh! Are you the artist, then?" asked Patsy, with doubtful intonation.

"I don't like the word. I'm not a real artist--just a cartoonist and
newspaper hack. Say, it's funny to see me in this jungle, isn't it? What
joy I'll have in astonishing the natives! I s'pose a picture's a
picture, to them, and Art an impenetrable mystery. What sort of stuff do
you want me to turn out?"

"I--I'm not sure you'll do," said Miss Doyle, desperately. "I--we--that