Hawksley hesitated a moment. After all, he could trust this perfect
old servant, whom he remembered. He gave the address.

As he came out of the booth the girl stretched forth an arm to
detain him. He stopped.

"I'm sorry I spoke like that," she said. "But I'm so tired! I've
been on my feet all day, and everybody's been barking and growling;
and if I'd taken in as many nickels as I've passed out in change the
boss would be rich."

"Give me a dozen of those roses there." She sold flowers also.
"The pink ones. How much?" he asked.

"Two-fifty."

He laid down the money. "Never mind the box. They are for you.
Good evening."

The girl stared at the flowers as Ali Baba must have stared at the
cask with rubies.

"For me!" she whispered. "For nothing!"

Her eyes blurred. She never saw Hawksley again; but that was of
no importance. She had a gentle deed to put away in the lavender
of recollection.

Outside Hawksley could see nothing of the man who had bought the