A blank pause. "My own, ma'am, of which I am the head." There was no
levity in tone or expression.

By now every window in the club framed a dozen or more faces.

"I will take this Canova, I believe," she finally decided, opening her
purse and producing the necessary silver. "Of course, it is quite
impossible to send this?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sending it would eat up all the profits." But, with
ill-concealed eagerness, "If you will leave your address I can send as
many as you like."

"I will do that."

Incredible as it seemed, neither face lost its repose; he dared not
smile, and the young woman did not care to. There was something
familiar to his memory in the oval face, but this was no time for a
diligent search.

"Hey, miss," yelled one of the newsboys, "you're t'rowin' your money
away. He's a fake; he ain't no statoo seller. He's doing it for a
joke!"

Fitzgerald lost a little color, that was all. But his customer ignored
the imputation. She took out a card and laid it on the tray, and
without further ado went serenely on her way. The policeman stepped
toward her as if to speak, but she turned her delicate head aside. The
crowd engulfed her presently, and Fitzgerald picked up the card. There
was neither name nor definite address on it. It was a message, hastily