Hetty went into her room and closed the door. The young man waited
outside.

"Cecilia, kid," said the shop-girl, oiling the sharp saw of her voice
as well as she could, "there's an onion outside. With a young man
attached. I've asked him in to dinner. You ain't going to kick, are
you?"

"Oh, dear!" said Cecilia, sitting up and patting her artistic hair. She
cast a mournful glance at the ferry-boat poster on the wall.

"Nit," said Hetty. "It ain't him. You're up against real life now. I
believe you said your hero friend had money and automobiles. This is
a poor skeezicks that's got nothing to eat but an onion. But he's
easy-spoken and not a freshy. I imagine he's been a gentleman, he's
so low down now. And we need the onion. Shall I bring him in? I'll
guarantee his behavior."

"Hetty, dear," sighed Cecilia, "I'm so hungry. What difference does it
make whether he's a prince or a burglar? I don't care. Bring him in if
he's got anything to eat with him."

Hetty went back into the hall. The onion man was gone. Her heart missed
a beat, and a gray look settled over her face except on her nose and
cheek-bones. And then the tides of life flowed in again, for she saw
him leaning out of the front window at the other end of the hall. She
hurried there. He was shouting to some one below. The noise of the
street overpowered the sound of her footsteps. She looked down over his
shoulder, saw whom he was speaking to, and heard his words. He pulled