street until he came to a drugstore. Entering a telephone-booth he
called a certain number and a moment later had his connection.

"Is that you, Edith?" he asked, and at the affirmative reply, "this is
Jimmy Torrance. I'm feeling terribly lonesome. I was wondering if I
couldn't drag you out to listen to my troubles?"

"Surest thing you know," cried the girl. "Where are you?" He told her.
"Take a Clark Street car," she told him, "and I'll be at the corner of
North Avenue by the time you get there."

As the girl hung up the receiver and turned from the phone a slightly
quizzical expression reflected some thought that was in her mind. "I
wonder," she said as she returned to her room, "if he is going to be
like the rest?"

She seated herself before her mirror and critically examined her
reflection in the glass. She knew she was good-looking. No need of a
mirror to tell her that. Her youth and her good looks had been her stock
in trade, and yet this evening she appraised her features most
critically, and as with light fingers she touched her hair, now in one
place and now in another, she found herself humming a gay little tune
and she realized that she was very happy.

When Jimmy Torrance alighted from the Clark Street car he found Edith
waiting for him.

"It was mighty good of you," he said. "I don't know when I have had
such a fit of blues, but I feel better already."