she is, well along in the twenties, I should say. What struck me most
about her was the tan on her face and hands and the way her hair was
faded in streaks. Sort of a general outdoor look she had, which is odd
enough to see on Broadway any time of year.

"Was it you askin' for Mr. Mason?" says I, beginnin' to suspect that
Vincent had made a mistake, after all.

"Yes indeed, suh," says she, sort of soft and slurry. "Ahm th' one.
You jess tell him Valentina Tozier's out hea-uh. He'll know."

"Oh, will he?" says I, a bit sarcastic. "Sorry, Valentina, but I
couldn't think of disturbin' Mr. Mason now. Maybe you don't know it,
but he's a mighty busy man."

"Well, there!" says she. "Think of that!"

Then I knew why it was Vincent had taken a chance on crashin' into a
directors' meetin'. He'd been hypnotized by Miss Tozier's smile. It
ain't any common open-faced movement, believe me. It's about the
friendliest, most natural heart-to-heart smile I ever got in range of.
And, somehow, it seems to come mostly from the eyes; a chummy,
confidential, trustin' smile that sparkles with good faith and good
nature, and kind of thrills you with the feelin' that you must be a lot
better'n you ever suspected. Honest, after one application I forgets
the queer rig she has on, the mud-colored hair, and the way her chest
slumps in. Whoever she might be and whatever she might want, I'm
strong for givin' her the helpin' hand. If I could have gone in and
led old K. W. out by the arm, I'd have done it. But you couldn't have
pulled him away from that Board scrap with a donkey-engine. He was