"Here, none of those monkey-shines, miss. You tend to business. D'you
hear?" Sister Kauffman and the other worker had gone into the
dance-hall in the rear. Quickly stepping up to the girl, I inquired of
her what he meant, what so young and modest a girl was doing there, and
whether she did not desire to leave, and implored her to let me aid in
rescuing her from her wretched life. Quickly she told me that she was
motherless and also that she had been home from an Eastern school only
about twenty-four days. "My child, what has happened that you are
here?" I inquired, astonished beyond measure. Before she could reply
the big blonde man tending bar said:

[Illustration: THE DIVE KEEPER'S DAUGHTER]

"Here you" (addressing me), "make yourself scarce. You and your kind
are ---- ---- hoo-doos to our business"

"Please, please go," the girl pleaded.

Just at this juncture Sister Kauffman and her lady companion came
through the dance hall double doors. The latter held them wide open and
in her loud, penetrating voice slowly uttered these words:

"What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own
soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" ...

"Come, Sister Roberts."

"Yes, in a minute," I replied as I motioned to them I would join them
outside.