"Why, no; of course Cadge knows it's the pictures that count; everybody
knows that."

A writing-table jutted into the room from a second window, backing against
Miss Reid's. On its flap lay German volumes on biology and a little
treatise in English about "Advanced Methods of Imbedding, Sectioning and
Staining." The window ledge held a vase of willow and alder twigs, whose
buds appeared to be swelling. Beside it was a glass of water in which
seeds were sprouting on a floating island of cotton wool.

"Admiring Helen's forest?" came the voice from the desk. "I'm afraid
there's only second growth timber left; she carried away the great
redwoods and all the giants of the wilderness this morning. Are you
interested in zoology? Sometimes, since I have been living with Helen, I
have wished more than anything else to find out, What is protoplasm? Do
you happen to know?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Neither does Helen--nor any one else."

Miss Reid's merry ways are infectious. I'm glad Helen is rooming with a
nice girl.

The place was shabby enough, with cracked and broken ceiling, marred
woodwork and stained wall paper; but etchings, foreign photographs,
sketches put up with thumb tacks and bright hangings made it odd and
attractive. On a low couch piled with cushions lay Helen's mandolin and a
banjo. A plaster cast of some queer animal roosted on the mantel, craning