whom she had lifted from the cold gutter to comparative affluence and
incomparable affection for his rescuer came unbidden into the
flurry-scurry of her thoughts, and remained for some time. And she knew
that if all her friends should fail her, if the beggar returned no more
to be modelled, if the secret-service agent proved but a handsome empty
shell, Bubbles would always show up at the appointed time and place
while life remained in him. Then, again, as she tried to concentrate
upon her bust of Blizzard, the secret-service agent stepped forward, you
may say, and smiled into her eyes. And she smiled back. Again she seemed
to feel the strong clasp of his hand, and to hear the agreeable and even
musical intonation of his strong voice. Odd, she thought, that he should
come to put on door-knobs, turn out to be a secret-service agent, and
have at the same time, if not the characteristics of a fine gentleman,
those at least of a man of education and sensibility infinitely superior
to the highest type of day-laborer or detective. One of her new
acquaintances talked like a gentleman and claimed to be the son of a
distinguished man; the other, claiming nothing, was infinitely more
presentable; and there was only the small boy who remained frankly
representative of his class. In spite of his coat of bright buttons, he
was of the streets streety; a valiant little ragamuffin, in all but the
actual rags. He had the morals of his class and the point of view, and
differed only in the excellence of his heart. This was a heart made for
loving, devotion, and sacrifice. Yet it was crammed to the brim with
knowledge of evil, and even tolerance therefor. That certain men in
certain circumstances would act in such and such a way was not a
horrible idea to Bubbles, but merely a fact. In the boy's code stealing
from a friend was stealing, but stealing from an enemy was merely one
way of making a living.

Upon arriving at her father's house, Barbara met Wilmot Allen just