* * * * *

The annual ball was a month in the past, when Van Bibber found Travers
at breakfast at their club, and dropped into a chair beside him with a
sigh of weariness and indecision.

"What's the trouble? Have some breakfast?" said Travers, cheerfully.

"Thank you, no," said Van Bibber, gazing at his friend doubtfully; "I
want to ask you what you think of this. Do you remember that girl at
that servants' ball?"

"Which girl?--Tall girl with red hair--did fancy dance? Yes--why?"

"Well, I've been thinking about her lately," said Van Bibber, "and what
they said of her dancing. It seems to me that if it's as good as they
thought it was, the girl ought to be told of it and encouraged. They
evidently meant what they said. It wasn't as though they were talking
about her to her relatives and had to say something pleasant. Lester
thought she could make a hundred dollars a week if she had had six
lessons. Well, six lessons wouldn't cost much, not more than ten dollars
at the most, and a hundred a week for an original outlay of ten is a
good investment."

Travers nodded his head in assent, and whacked an egg viciously with his
spoon. "What's your scheme?" he said. "Is your idea to help the lady for
her own sake--sort of a philanthropic snap--or as a speculation? We
might make it pay as a speculation. You see nobody knows about her
except you and me. We might form her into a sort of stock company and
teach her to dance, and secure her engagements and then take our