have a race-horse named after her, and give testimonials for nerve
tonics and soap. Does fame reach farther than that?"

"I think not," said Van Bibber, "unless they give her name to a new make
of bicycle. We must give her a new name, anyway, and rechristen her,
whatever her name may be. We'll call her Cinderella--La Cinderella. That
sounds fine, doesn't it, even if it is rather long for the very largest
type."

"It isn't much longer than Carmencita," suggested the other. "And people
who have the proud knowledge of knowing her like you and me will call
her 'Cinders' for short. And when we read of her dancing before the Czar
of All the Russias, and leading the ballet at the Grand Opera House in
Paris, we'll say, 'that is our handiwork,' and we will feel that we have
not lived in vain."

* * * * *

"Seventh floor, please," said Van Bibber to the elevator boy.

The elevator boy was a young man of serious demeanor, with a
smooth-shaven face and a square, determined jaw. There was something
about him which seemed familiar, but Van Bibber could not determine just
what it was. The elevator stopped to allow some people to leave it at
the second floor, and as the young man shoved the door to again, Van
Bibber asked him if he happened to know of a chambermaid with red hair,
a tall girl on the seventh floor, a girl who danced very well.

The wire rope of the elevator slipped less rapidly through the hands of
the young man who controlled it, and he turned and fixed his eyes with