much. She did not see Kedzie at all.

And Kedzie herself, shabby and commonplace, was so ignorant that
if she looked at either Jim or Charity Coe she gave them no heed,
for she had never even heard of them or seen their pictures,
so frequent in the papers.

They were among the whom-not-to-know-argues-one-self-unknowns.
But there were countless other facts that argued Kedzie Thropp
unknown and unknowing. As she was forever saying, she had never
had anything or been anywhere or seen anybody worth having, being,
or seeing.

But Jim Dyckman, everybody said, had always had everything, been
everywhere, known everybody who was anybody. As for Charity Coe,
she had given away more than most people ever have. And she, too,
had traveled and met.

Yet Kedzie Thropp was destined (if there is such a thing as being
destined--at any rate, it fell to her lot) to turn the lives of those
two bigwigs topsy-turvy, and to get her picture into more papers
than both of them put together. A large part of latter-day existence
has consisted of the fear or the favor of getting pictures in the
papers.

It was Kedzie's unusual distinction to win into the headlines at
her first entrance into New York, and for the quaintest of reasons.
She had somebody's else picture published for her that time; but
later she had her very own published by the thousand until the
little commoner, born in the most neglected corner of oblivion,