THE RED GROSS GIRL.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 12748, 27 April 1912, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE RED GROSS GIRL.

When Spencer Flagg laid the founda-| tion stone for the new million-dollar wing he was adding to the Flagg Home for Convalescents, on the hills above Greenwich, the Noav York Republic sent Sam Ward to cover the story; and with him Redding to take photographs. It was a crisp, beautiful day m October, full of sunshine and the joy of living; and from the great lawn m front of the home you could see half over Connecticut and across the waters of the sound to Oyster Bay. Upon Sam Ward, however, tlie beauties of Nature were wasted. When, the night preArious he had given the assignment he had sulked, and he was still sulking. Only a year before he had graduated into New York from a small upstate college and a small upstate neAvspaper, but already he was a "star" man. and Hewitt, the city editor, humored him. "What's the matter with the story?" asked the city editor. "With the speeches and lista of names, it ought to run to two columns." "Suppose it does!" exclaimed Ward; "Anybody ;can collect typewritten; speeches and lists 6f-; names. That's a niessenger boy's job. Where's there any j heart interest m a Wall Street broker! * like Flagg Avaving a silver trowel and singing, 'See what a good boy am I !' and a lot of grown up men m pinafores saying, 'This stone is well and truly laid.* Where's the story m that?" "When I was a reporter," declared the city editor, "I used to be glad to get a day m the country." "Because you'd .never lived m the country," returned Sam. "If you'd wasted twenty-six years m the backwoods, as I've done, ; you'd know that every minute you spend outside of New York you're robbing yourself." "Of what?" demanded the city editor. "There's nothing to New York except cement, iron girders, noise and zinc garbage cans. You never see the sun m New York ; you never see the moon unless you stand m the middle of the street and bend backward. We never see the women except m cages m the elevators— they spend their lives shoot*ing up and down elevator shafts m department stores,' m apartment houses, m office buildings. And we never see children on New York because the janitors won't let the women Avho live m elevators halve children ! Don't talk to me ! New York's a Little Nemo nightmare. It's ai joke It's an insult !" "Hoav curious!" said Sam. "Noav I . see why they took you off the street and made you a city editor. I don't agree with anything you say. v Especially are you wrong about, the women. They ought to be caged m elevators, but they're not. Instead, they flash past you m the street; they* shine upon you from boxes m the theatre ; they frown at you from the tops of buses; they smile at you from the cushions of a taxi, across restaurants under red candle shades, Avhen you offer them a seat m the subway. They are the only thing m New York that gives me any trouble." The city editor sighed. How young you are !" he exclaimed/ "However, tomorrow you Avill be free from your only trouble. There ; will be fe>v women at the celebration, and they will be interested only m convalescents— and you do not look like a convalescent."

Sam Ward sat at the outer edge of the crowd o^ overdressed females and overfed men, and, with a sardonic smile, listened to Flagg telling his assembled friends and sycophants how glad he was they were there to see him gives away a million dollars. "Aren't you going to get his speech?" asked Redding, the staff photographer. "Get his speech !" said Sam. "They have Pinkertons all over tho grounds to see that you don't escape Avith less than three copies of it. I'm waiting to hear the ritual they always have, and then I'm going to. sprint for the first train back to the centre of civilisation." "There's going to be a fine lunch," said Redding, "and Ave're expected! I asked the policeman if we Avere, and he said Aye Avere." Sam shook his trousers into place, stuck his stick under liis armpit and smoothed his yellow gloves. He was very thoughtful of his clothes and always treated them with courtesy. "You can have my share," he said. "I cannot forget that I am still twenty-five minutes from Broadway. And even if I were starving I would rather have a club sandwich m New York than a Thanksgiving turkey dinner m. New Rochet Us.*-' He nodded and with eager athletic strides started toward the iron gates ; but he did not reach the iron gates, for on the instant trouble barred his way. Trouble came to him wearing the blue cambric uniform of a nursing sister, Avith a red cross on her arm, with a '-Avbite collar turned down, white cuffs turned back, and a tiny black velvet bonnet. A boAV of white lawn chucked her impudently under the chin. She had liair like golden rod and eyes as blue as flax, and a complexion of such health and cleanliness and deAviness as blooms only on trained nurses. • She Avas so lovely that Redding swung his hooded camera at her as swiftly as a coAvboy could' have covered her with his gun. Reporters became star reporters because they observe things that other people miss and because they do not let it appear that they have observed them. When the great man who is being interviewed blurts out that which is indiscreet but most important, the cub reporter says : "That's most interesting, sir, I'll make a note of that." And so Avarns the great man into silende. But the .star reporter receives the indiscreet utterance as though it bored him ; and so the great man does not know he has blundered until he reads of it the next morning under screaming headlines. , • Other men, on being suddenly confronted by Sister Anne, which Avas the official title of tbe nursing sister, would have fallen backward or swooned, or gazed at her with soulful, worshipping eyes ; or, were they that sort of beast, would have ogled her with impertinent approval. Noav Sam, because he was a star reporter, observed that the lady before him was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seeri; but no one Avould have guessed that ho observed that — least of all Sister Anne. He stood m her Avay and lifted his hat, and even looked into the eyes of blue as impersonally and as calmly as though she Avere his great aunt — as though his heart was not beating so fast that it choked him. ' ' "T am from the Republic," he said. "Everybody, is so busy, here to-day. that I'm not able to get what I need about tbe Home. It seems a pity," he added disappointedly; because it's so well done that people ought toknoAv about

I it." He frowned at the big hospital I buildings. It wae apparent that the * ignorance of the public concerning their 1 excellence greatly annoyed him. When again he looked at Sister Anne she was regarding him with alarm — obviously she was upon the point of instant flight. "You axe a reporter?" aha said. Some people like to place themselves m the hands of a reporter because- they hope he will print their names m black letters; a few others — only reporters know how few — would as soon place themselves m the hands of a dentist. "A . reporter from the Republic, repeated Sam. "But Avhy ask me?" demanded Sister Anno. Sam could see no reason for her question; m extenuation and explanation he glanced at her uniform. "I thought you were at work here," he said simply. "I beg your pardon." He stepped aside as though he meant to leave her. In giving that impression be was distinctly dishonest. "There Avas no other reason," persisted Sister Ann&r— "l mean for speaking to me?" ; Tlie reason for speaking to her was so obA-ious that Sam wondered whether this could bo the height of innocence or the .' most banal coquetry. Tlie hostile look m the eyes of the lady proved it could not be coquetry. "I am sdrry," said Sam. "I mistook you for one of the nurses here; and, as you didn't seem busy, I thought you might give me some statistics about the Horne — not really statistics, you know, but local color." , Sister Anne returned his look with one as steady as his oavh. Apparently she was Aveighing his statement. She seemed to disbelieve it. Imvardly he was asking himself what could be the dark secret m the past of this young woman that at. the mere approach of a reporter — even of such a nice-looking reporter as himself — she should shake and shudder. "If that's what you really want to know," said Sister -Anne doubtfully, "I'll try and help you ; but," she added, looking at him as one who i-Sues an ultimatum, "you must not say anything about me !" v Sam knew that a woman of the selfadvertising, club-organising class will always say that to a reporter at the samo time she gives him her card so that he can spell her name correctly; but Sam recognised that this young Avoman meant it. Resides, what Avas there that he could write about her?. Much as he might like to do so, he .could not' begin his story with : "The Flagg Home for Convalescents is also the home of the most beautiful of all living Avomen." No copy editor Avould let that get by him. So, as there was "nothing to say that he would' be allowed to say, he promised to say nothing. Sister Anne smiled ; and it seemed to Sam that she smiled, .not because his promise had set her mind at ease but because the promise amused her. Sam wondered why. Sister Anne fell into step beside him and : led him through the wards of the hospital. He found that it existed for and revolved entirely about one., person. He found that a million dollars and some, acres of buildings, containing sunrooms and hundreds of rigid white beds, had been donated by Spencer Flagg only to provide a background for Sister Anne —only to exhibit the depth of her heart, the unselfishness of her nature. "Do you really scrub the floors?" he demanded — "I mean you yourself-^down on" your knees, Avith a pail and water and scrubbing brush?" Sister Anne raised her beautiful eyebrows and laughed at him. "We do that when Aye first come here," she said— "when we are probationer's; is there a newer , way of scrubbing floors ?" "And these awful patients," demand-ed-Sam- — "do you wait on them? Po you have to submit to their complaints and Avhinings and ingratitude?" He glared at the unhappy convalescents as though by that glance he Avould annihilate them. "It's not fair !" exclaimed Sam. "It's ridiculous. I'd like to choke them !" "That's not exactly the object of a home for convalescents," said Sister* Anne. "You knoAv perfectly well what I mean," said Sam. "Here you are — if you'll allow hie to say so — a magnificent splendid, healthy young person, wearing out your young life oA r er a lot of lame ducks, failures and cripples." "Nor is that quite the way we look at it," said Sister Anne. "Wert" demanded Sam. "Sister Anne nodded toward a group of nurses. "I'm not the only nurse here," she said. "There are over forty." "You are the only one here," said Skm, "who is not ! That's just Avhat I mean — I appreciate the work of a trained nurse; I understand the ministering angel part of it ; but you — I'm not talking about anybody else; I'm talking about you — you are too young N . • SomehoAv' you are different; you are' not meant to wear yourself out fighting disease and sickness, measuring beef broth and making beds." Sister Anne laughed with delight. "I beg your pardon," said Sam stiffly. "No — pardon me," said Sister Anne; "but your ideas of the duties of a nurse are so quaint." / "No matter what the duties are," declared. Sam; "you should not be here!" Sister Anne shrugged her shoulders ; they Avere charming shoulders — as delicate as the pinions of a bird. "One must live," saic. Sister Anne. They had passed through the last cold corridor, between the last toavs of rigid white cots, and had come out into the sunshine. Below them stretched Connecticut, painted m autumn colors.' Sister Anne seated herself upon the marble railing of the terrace and looked doAvn upon the flashing waters of the Sound. "Yes ; that's it," she repeated softly — "one must liA-e." Sam looked at her— but finding that to do so made speech difficult, looked hurriedly aAvay. He admitted to himself that it Avas one of those occasions only too frequent Avith him, when his indignant sympathy was heightened by the fact that "the woman was veiy fair." He conceded that. He was not going to pretend to himself that he was not prejudiced by the outrageous beauty of Sister Anne, by the assault upon his feelings made by her uniform — made by the appeal of ber profession. He Avas honestly disturbed that this young girl _hould devote her life to tbe service of selfish sick people. "If you do it because you must live, then it tan easily be- arranged ; for there are other ways of earning a li\*ing." The girl looked at him. quickly; but.

he was quite sincere — and again she smiled. "Noav what would you suggest?" she asked. "You see," she said," I have no one to advise me — no man of my OAvn age. I have no brothers to go to. I have a father, but it was his idea that I should come here; and so I doubt if he Avould approve of my changing to any other work. Your OAvn work must make you acquainted with many women who earn their own living. Maybe yon could advise me." Sam did not answer at once. He Avas calculating hastily how far his salary would go toward supporting a wife. He was trying to remember which of the men m the office were married, and whether they were those Avhose salaries were smaller than his oavii. Collins, one of the copy editors, he knew was A'cry ill paid ; but Sam also knew that Collins Avas married, because his wife used to wait for him m tbe office to take her to the theatre, and often Sam liad thought she was extremely well-dres^sd. Of course Sister Anne Avas so beautiful that what she might wear would be )a matter of indifference; but then women did not always look -at it that way. Sam Avas so long considering offering Sister Anne a life^position that his silence bad become significant ; and to cover • his real thoughts he said hurriedly : "Take typewriting for instance. That" pays very Avell. The hours are not difficult." "And manicuring?" suggested Sister Anne. Sam exclaimed m horror. "You!" he cried roughly — "For yob ! Quite impossible!" "Why for me?" said. the girl. In the distress at the thought Sam was jabbing his stick into the gravel walk as though driving the manicuring idea into a deep grave. He did not see that the girl was smiling at him mockingly. ' "You?" protested Sam — "You m; a barber's shop washing men's fingers Avho are not fit to wash the streets you walk on ! Good Lord !" His vehemence was quite honest. The girl ceased smiling. Sam was still jabbing at the gravel walk, his profile toward her — and, unobserved, she could study his face. It was an attractive face— strong, clever ; almost illegally good-lookng. It'; explained why, as he had complained to the city editor, his chief trouble m New York Avas with the women. With his eyes full of concern, Sain turned to her abruptly. "How much do they give you a month?" . ■'■ "Forty dollars," answered Sister Anne. "This is what hurts me about it," said Sam. "It is that you should have to work and wait on other people when there are so many strong hulking men Avho Avould count it God's blessing to work for you, to wait on you and give their lives for you. However, probably you know better than I do." "No; I didn't know that," said Sister Anna. Sam recognised that it was quite absurd that it Should be so, but this statement gave him a sense of great elation, a delightful thrill of relief. There Avas every reason Avhy the girl should not confide m a complete stranger — even to deceive him Avas quite within her rights ; but, though Sam appreciated this, .he preferred to be deceived. "I think you are working too hard/ be said smiling happily — "I think you ought to have a change. You ought to take a day .or two off ! Do they ever give .you a day off?" "Next Saturday," . said Sister' Anne, "Why?" "Because,"' exclaimed Sam,, "if , you Avon't think it too presumptuous, I Avas going to prescribe a day off for you— > a day entirely &Avay fro*n iodoform and white enamelled cots. It . is what . you need, a day m the city and a lunch where they have music; and a matinee, Avhere you can laugh— or cry, if you like that better—^and then, maybe, some fresh air m the park m a taxi; and after that dinner and more theatre — and then I'll see you safe on the train for Greenwich. Before you ansAver," he added hurriedly, "I want to explain .that I contemplate taking a day off myself and doing all these things with you-r-and that if you Avant :to bring any of the other forty nurses along . as a chaperon, I hope you will. Only, hbnestly, I hope you won't!" ; The proposal apparently gave Sister Anne much pleasure.. She did not say so, but her eyes shone and when she looked at Sam she was almost laughing Avith happiness. "T think that Avould be quite delightful," said Sister Anne — "quite delightful ! Only it would be frightfully expensive; even if I don't bring another girl, which I certainly would not do,, it Avould cost a great deal of money. I think Aye might cut out the taxicab — and Avalk m the park and feed the squirrels." "Oh !" exclaimed Sam m disappointment — "then you know Central Park " Sister Anne's eyes greAV quite expressionless. "I once lived near there," she said. "In Harlem?" "Not exactly m Harlem, but near it. I Avaa quite young," said Sister Anne. "Since then I have ahvays lived m. the country or in—other places." Sam's heart was singing Avith pleasure. "It's so kind of you to consent," he cried. "Indeed, you are the kindest person m the Avorld. I thought so. when I savv you bending over those sick people and now I knoAv." "It is you Avho are kind," protested Sister Anne, "to take pity on me." ' "Pity on , you !" laughed Sam. "You can't pity a person who can do more with a smilethan old man Flagg can do with all his millions. Now," he demanded m happy anticipation, "Avhere are Aye to meet?" "That's it," said Sister. Anne. "Where are we to meet?" "Let it be at the Grand Central Station. The day can't begin too soon," said Sam; "and before then telephone mo Avhat theatre and restaurants you want and I'll reserve seats and tables. Oh," exclaimed Sam joyfully, "it will be a Avonderful day — a wonderful day !" Sister Anne looked at him curiously, and, so it seemed, a little wistfully. She held out her hand. "I must go back to my duties/ she said. "Good-.bye." "Not good-bye," said Sam heartily— "only iii .til Saturday — and my .name's Sam Ward and my address is the city room of the Republic. .._ What's your name?" "Sister Anne," said the girl. "In the nursing order to which I belong Aye havo no last names." "Ho," asked Sam, "I'll call you Sister Anne?" "No;" just Sister," said the girl.. "Sister !" repeated Sam— "Sister "!" He breathed the word rather than spoke it; and the Avay he said it and the. way he looked when he said it made it carry

almost the touch of a caress. It was as if he had said "Sweetheart!" or "Beloved !" "I'll not forget," said Sam Sister Anne gave an impatient, annoyed laugh. "Nor I," she said; Sam returned to New York m the smoking car, puffing feverishly at his cigar and glaring dreamily at the smoke. He was living tho day over again and, m anticipation, tho day off, still to come. He rehearsed their next meeting at the station ; he considered whether or not he would meet her with a huge .bunch of AMolets or would have it brought to her. when they were at luncheon by the head Avaiter. He decided the latter Avay Avould be more of a pleasant surprise. He planned the luncheon. It was to be the most marvellous repast.he could evolve ; and, lest there should be the slightest error, he Avould have it prepared m advance — and it should cost half his week's salary. The place where they were to dine he would leave to her; because he had observed that women liad strange ideas about clothes — some of them thinking that certain clothes must go with certain restaurants. Some of them seemed' to believe that, instead of their conferring distinction upon the restaurant, the restaurant conferred distinction upon them. He Avas sure Sister Anne would not be so foolish, but it might be that she must ahvays wear her nurse's uniform and that she would prefer not to be conspicuous ; so he decided that the choice of where they would dine he would leave to her. He calculated that the whole day ought to cost, about eighty dollars, which, as star reporter, was what he was then earning each week. That was little enough to give for a day that would be the birthday of his life ! No, he contradicted — the day' he had first met her must always be the birthday of his life ; for never had he met one like her* — she was so entirely superior to all the others, so fine, so difficult— in her manner there. was something that rendered her unapproachable. Even her simple nurse's gosm was worn with a difference. * She might have been a princess m fancy dress. And yet, how humble she had been when he begged her to let him for one day personally conduct her over the great city! "You aro so kind to take pity on me," she had said. He though* of many clever, pretty speeches |ie might have made. He Avas so annoyed he had not thought of them at the time that he kicked violently at the seat m front of him. He Avondered what her history might , be ; he , was sure it Avas full of beautiful courage and self-sacrifice. It certainly was outrageous that one so glorious must work for her living, and for such a paltry living— forty dollars a month ! It was worth that merely itb have her sit m the flat where one could look at her ; for already he had decided that, when they were married, they would live m a flat — probably m one overlooking Cen-; tral Park, on Central Park West. He knew of several attractive, suites there at thirty-five dollars a week, — or, if she preferred the suburbs, he would forsake his beloved New- York and return to the country. In his gratitude to her for being what she Avas, he conceded even that sacrifice. When he reached Nbav York, from the speculators he bought front-row seats at five dollars for the two most popular plays m town. He put them away care* fully m his waistcoat pocket. Possession of them made him feel that already he had obtained an option on six hours of complete happiness. After she left Sain, Sister Anne passed hurriedly through the hospital to the matron's room and, wrapping herself m a raccoon coat ,made her way to a waiting motor car and said "Home!" to the chauffeur. H* drove her to the Flagg faimily vault, as Flagg's envious millionaire neighbors . called the pile of white marble that topped the highect hill above Greenwich, and which for years had served as a landfall to mariners on the Sound... There were a number of people at. tea when she arrived and they' greeted her noisily. "I baA'e had a most splendid adventure !" said Sister Anne. "There were six of us, you know, dressed up as Red Cross nurses, and we gave away programmes. Well, one of the NeAV York reporters thought I was a real nurse and interviewed mej about the home. Ol course I knew enough about it to keep up, and I kept it up so well that. he Avas terribly sorryf or me ; and — " One of the tea drinkers was t little Hollis Holworthy, Avho prided himself on knowing who's Ayho m New York. He had mevaam Ward at first nights and prize fights. He laughed scornfully. "Don't you believe it!" he interrupted. "That man who was talking to you Avas Sam Ward. He's the smartest neAvspaper man m New York ; he Avas just leading you on. Do you suppose there's a reporter . m America who wouldn't know you m the dark? . Wait until you see the Sunday paper." Sister Anne exclaimed indignantly : "He did not know me !" she protested. "It quite upset him that I should be Avasting my life measuring out medicines and making beds." There was a shriek of disbelief 'Vnrl laughter. "I told him>" continued Sister Anne, 'that I got forty dollars a month, and he said I could make more as a typewriter ; and I 'said I preferred to be a manicurist." *) "Oh, Anita !" protested the admiring chorus. . "And he was most indignant. He absolutely refused to allow me to be a manicurist. And he asked me to take a day off with him and let him show me New York. And he offered, as attractions, moving-picture slioavs and a drive on a Fifth Avenue 'bus, and feeding peanuts to the animals m the park, And jif I insisted upon a chaperon I might bring one of the nurses. We're to meet at the' soda-Avater fountain m the Grand Central Station. He said, 'Tlie day cannot begin too soon !' " "Oh, Anita!" shrieked the chorus. Lord Dep tford, Avho as the newspapers had repeatedly informed the American public had come to the Fiaggs' country place to try to marry Anita Flagg, Avas amused. "What an aAvfully jolly rag!" he cried. "And Avhat are you going to do about it?" "Nothing," said Anita Flagg. "The reporters have been making me ridiculous for the last three years ; no\v I have got back at one of them! And," she added, "that's all there is to that!" That night, however, when the house party was making toward bed, Sister Anne stopped by the stairs and said to Lord Deptford *. "I want to hear you call mo Sister" "Call you Avhat?" exclaimed the young man. "T will. 'tell you," he Avhispered, "what I'd like to call you !" "You Avill not !" interrupted Anita. "Do as I tell you and say Sister once. Say it as though you meant it."

[ "But I don't mean it," protested his lordship. "I've said already what I — " "Never mind Avhat you've said already," commanded Miss Flag. "I've heard tliat from a lot of people. Say Sister just once." His lordship frowned m embarrassment. "Sister !" he exclaimed. It sounded like the pop of a cork. Anita Flagg laughed unkindly and her beautiful shoulders shivered as though she were cold. "Not a bit like it, Deptford;" she said. "Good night." Later Helen Page, who came t0... ber room to ask her about a horse she was to ride m the morning,found her ready for bed, but standing by the open window looking out toward the great city to the south. When she turned Miss Page saw something m her eyes, that caused that young woman to shriek with amazement. "Anita!" she exclaimed. "You crying ! What m Heaven's name can make yon cry?" It Avas not a kind speech, nor did Miss Flagg receive it kindly. She turned upon the tactless intruder. "Suppose," cried Anita fiercely, "a man thought you were worth forty dollars a month— honestly didn't know ! — honestly believed you were poor and Avorked for your living, and still said your smile Avas worth more than all old man Flagg's millions, not knowing they were your millions. Suppose he didn't ask any money of you, but just, to take care of you, to slave - ' for you — only wanted to keep your pretty hands from working, and your pretty eyes from seeing sickness and pain. Suppose you met that man among this rotten lot, what would you do? What wouldn't you do?" "Why, Anita !" exclaimed; Miss Page. "What would you do?" demanded Anita Flagg. "This is what you'd do : You'd go doAvn on. your knees to that man and say : 'Take me away ! Take me aAvay from them, and pity me, and be sorry for me, and love me — and love me — and love me !' " "And why don't you?" cried Helen Page. Y'Y'Yy "Boeause I'm as rotten as the rest of them!" cried Anita Flagg. "Because I'm a . coward. And that's why I'm crying. Haven't I, the right to cry?"

At the exact moment Miss Flagg was proclaiming herself a moral coward, m the local room of the Republic, Collins the copy editor, was editing Sam's story of the -laying of the cornerstone. The copy editor's cigar was. tilted near his left eyebrow ; his blue. . pencil, like a guillotine ready to fall upon the guilty word or paragraph, was suspended m midaii*; arid continually, like a haAvk preparing to strike, the -blue pencil swooped and circled. jßut page after pagfc fell softly to the desk and the blue pencil remained inactive. /As he read, the voice of Collins rose m muttered ejaculations; and, as he ..continued to read, these explosions grew- louder and more amazed. At last he could endure no more and, swinging swiftly m his revolving, chair, his glance swept the office 1 ."In ■ "In the name of Mike!" he shouted. "What is this?" . The reporters nearest him, busy Avith pencil and typewriters, frowned -in impatient protest! Sam Ward, swinging, his legs from the top of a. table, was gazing at the ceiling, wrapped, m dreams and tobacco smoke. Upon his clever, cleancut features the expression was far-away and beatific. He came bacjkto earth. "What's what?" Sam demanded. At that moment Elliott, the managing, editor, was passing through the room, his hands filled with- freshly-pulled proofs. He swung toward Collins quickly and snatched up Sam'j. copy. The story already Avas late — and it was, important. "What's wrong?" he demanded. Over the room there fell a sudden hush. "Read the opening paragraph," protested Collins. "It's all about a girl— about a Red Cross nurse..; Not a word about Flagg or Lord Deptford. No speeches! No news! It's not a. hoavs story at all. It's , an editorial, and an essay, and a spring poem. I don't know what's worse,'' wailed the copy editor defiantly and to the amazement of all, "it's so darned good that you can't touch it. You've got to let it go or kill it." The eyes of the managing editor, masked by his green paper shade, Avere racing over S&m's written words. He thrust the first page back at Collins. , "Is it all like that!" » "There's a column . like, that !" "Run it just as it is," commanded the managing editor. "Use it for your introduction and get your story from the flimsy. And, m your head, cut out Flagg entirely. Call it The Red Cross Girl. And play it up strong, with picture-." '■• ■■ He turned on Sam and . eyed him curiously. -; . "What's the idea, Ward?" he said. "This is a newspaper— r-not a magazine!" The click of the typewriters Avas ilent, the hectic rush of the pencils had •eased, and the staff, expectant, smiled cynically upon the star reporter. Sam shoved his hands into - his trousers pockets and also smiled, 'fyat unhappily. "I know it's not neAVS. sir," he said ; "but that's the way I saw the story— outside on the lawn, the band placing, and the y governor and the goA*emor's staff and the clergy burning incense to Flagg; arid inside, this girl right on the job— taking care of the sick and wounded. It seemed to me that a million from a man that Avon't miss a million didn't stack up against) what this girl Avas doing — doing for these sick folks ! What I Avanted to say," continued Sam stoutly, "was that the moving spirit, of the hospital Avas not iri the man .who signed the checks, but m these Avomen Ayho do the Avork— the nurses, like the One I Avrote about; the one you called the Red Cross Girl." Collins, strorig through .-.many years of faithful service, backed by the traditions of the profession, snorted sei rafully- - "But it's not news!" "It's not news," said Elliott doubtfully; but it's the kind of story that made Frank O'Malley famous. It's the kind of story that drives men out of this business into, the arms of Avhat Kipling calls 'the illegitimate sister.'" It seldom is granted to a man on the same day to give his whole heart to a girl and to be patted on the back by his managing editor ; and it ; was this combination, and not the drinks that he dispensed to the staff m return for its congratulations, that sent Sam home Avalking on air. He loved his business, be was proud of bis business; but never before had it served him so Avell. It had enabled him to tell the Avoman he loved, and incidentally a million other people, how deeply he honored her ; how clearly

he appretiatsd her pewer for g«o4l> Na one would know he meant Sister Anne — save two people — Sister Annp and himself; but for her and for him that was as many as should know. In his story he had used real incidents of the day; he had told of the little acts of consideration that endeared her to the sick people. The next morning she would know that it was she of whom he had written ; and between the lines she would read that the man who wrote them loved her. So he fell asleep, impatient for the morning. In the hotel at which he lived the Republic was always placed promptly outside his door; and, after many excursions into the hall, he at last found it. On the front page Avas his story, The Red Cross Girl. It had the place of honor — right-hand column; but more conspicuous than the headlines of his own story was one of Redding's photographs. It Avas the one he 'had taken of Sister Anne Avhen first she had approached them, m her uniform of mercy, advancing across the lawn, walking straight into the focus of the camera. There was no mistaking her for any other living woman; but beneath the picture, m bald, staring, uncompromising type, was a strange and grotesque legend. "Daughter of Millionaire Flagg," it read, "m a New Role. Miss Anita Flagg as The Red Cross Girl." For a long time Sam looked at , the picture, and then, folding the paper so that the picture was hidden, he walked to the open window. From below, Broadway sent up a tumultous greeting —cable cars jangled, taxis hooted; and on the sidewalks, on their way to work, processions of shopgirls stepped out briskly. It'Avas the street and the city and the life he had found fascinating, but iioav it jarred and affronted him. A girl he knew had died, had passed Out of liis life forever— worse than that, had never existed ; and yet the city went on just as though that made no difference, or just as little differenct as it would have made had Sister Anne really lived and really died. At the same early hour, an hour far too early for the rest of the house party, Anita Flagg and Helen Page, booted and riding-habitated, sat alone at the breakfast table, their tea before them ; and- m the hands of Anita Flagg was the daily Republic. Mis. Page had brought the paper to the table, and vrith affected indignation at the impertinence of the press, had pointed at the front-page photograph ; but Miss Flagg was not looking at the photograph, or drinking he..* tea, or showing m her immediate surroundings any interest whatsoever. Instead, her lovely eyes were fastened with fascination upon the column under the heading The Red Cross! Girl ; and," as she read, the lovely eyes lost all trace of recent slumber, her lovely lips parted breathlessly, and on her lovely cheeks the color flowed and faded and glowed and bloomed. When she had read as far as a paragraph beginning, "When Sister Anne walked betAveen them those w;ho suffered raised their eyes to hers as flowers lift their faces to the rain," she dropped the paper and started for the telephone. "Any man," cried she, to tho mutual discomfort of Helen Page and the servants, "who thinks I'm like that mustn't get away ! I'm not like that and I know it ; but if he thinks so that's all I want. And maybe I might be like that—if any man would help." . '._.._„'....' She gave her attention to the ' tele"-** phone and "Informatioti."' She demanded ,to be instantly "put into communication with the Daily Republic and Mr Sam Ward. She turned again upon Helen Page. "Im tired of being, called a good sport," she protested, "by men Avho aren't half so good sports as I amj I'm tired of being talked to about money-^---as though I were a stockbroker. This man's got a head on his shoulders, and he's got the shoulders, too ; and he's got a darned good-looking head; and he thinks I'm a ministering angel and' a saint; and he put me up on a pedestal arid made me dizzy — .and I like heirtg made dizzy ; and I'm for him ! And I'm going after him !" "Be still!" implored. Helen Page. "Any one might think you meant it I" She nodded violently at the discreet backs of the men ' servants. \ "Ye gods, Parker !" cried Anita Flagg. "Does it take three of you to pour but a cup of 'tea? Get out of here, and tell everybody that you all three caught me m the act of proposing to an American -gentleman over the telephone and that the betting is even that I'll make him marry me!" The faithful and sorely tried domestics fled toAvard the door. "And what's more," Anita hurled after them, "get. your bets down quick, for after I meet him the odds will be a hundred to one !" Had the Republic been an afternoon paper, Sam might have been at the office and might liave gone to the telephone, and things might have happened differently ; but/ as the Republic was a morning paper, the only person m the office was the lady who scrubbed 'the floors and she refused to go near the telephone. So Anita Flagg said,i "I'll call him up later," and went happily on her ride, Avith her heart warm with love for all the beautiful world ; but later it was too late. To keep himself fit. Sam Ward always walked to the office. On this par*ticudar morning Hollis Holworthy was walking uptown and they met opposite the cathedral. "You're the very man I want," said Holworthy joyously— "you've got to decide a bet." He turned and fell into step Avith Sam. . "It's one I made last night Avith Nita, Flagg. She thinks you didn't know Avho she Avas yesterday, and I said that Avas ridiculous. Of course you -kneAV. I bet her a theatre party." J To Sam it seemed hardly fair that" so . soon, before his fresh wound had even been dressed, it should be torn open by impertinent fingers; but he had .no right to take offence. Hoav could the man, or any one else, know what Sister Anne had meant tb him? "I'm afraid you lose," he said. He halted to give Holworthy the hint to leave him, but, Holworthy had no such intention. "You don't say so!" exclaimed that young man. "Fancy one of you chaps being taken m like that! I thought you were taking her in — getting "up a story for the Sunday supplement !" Sam shook his head, nodded and again moved on ; but he was not yet to . escape. "And instead of you fooling her," exclaimed Holworthy incredulously, "she Avas having fun Avith you !". With difficulty Sam smiled. "So it Avould seem," he said. "She certainly made an aAvful funny story of it!" exclaimed Holworthy -admiringly. "I tlwmght she was making

ii up. She said you asked her to talw a day •*". m Nsw York. That lsn» »•». i« it?" "Yes, that's to." "By jove!" cried Holwerthy— -"and that you invited her to see the movingpicture shows?" Sam, conscious of the dearly-bought front-row seats m his pocket, smiled pleasantly. "Did she say I said that— or yea?" ha asked. "She did." "Well, then, I must have said it." Holworthy roared with amusement. "And that you invited her to feed peanuts to the monkeys at the Zoo?" Sam avoided the little man's prying eye/i. "Yes; I said that too." "And I thought she was making it up !" exclaimed Holworthy. "We did laugh ! You must see the fun of it yourself." Lest Sam should fail to do so he proj ceeded to elaborate. . "You must see the fun m a man try- | ing to make a date with Anita Flagg — [ just as if she were an unknown somebody. ,"I don't think," said Sam, "that was exactly my idea." He: waved his stick at a passing taxi. "I'm late," he said. He abandoned Hollis on the sidewalk, chuckling and grinning with delight and unconscious of ' the mischief he had made. An hour later at the office, when Sam was waiting for an assignment, the telephone boy hurried to him, his eyes lit with excitement. "You're ay anted on the 'phone," he commanded. His voice dropped to an aAved whisper. "Miss Anita Flagg wants to speak to you !"■ N The blood ran leaping to Sam's heart and face. Then he remembered this was not Sister Anne who wanted to speak to him, but a Avoman he had never met. "Say you can't find me," he directed. The boy gasped, fled and returned precipitately. "The lady saye she wants your telephone number — says she must have it." "Tell her you don't' know .it ; tell her it's against, the rules — and hang up." In ten minutes the telephone boy, m the strictest confidence, had informed every member of the local staff that Anita Flagg — the rich, the beautiful, the daring, the original of the Red' Cross story of that morning— had twice called up Sam Ward and 'by that young man had been thrown down — and thrown hard ! That night Elliot the managing editor, sent for Sam, and • when Sam entered Ids office he found 'also there Walsh, the foreign editor, with whom •he was acquainted only by' sight. Elliot introduced them and told Sam to be seated. ' ' "Ward," he began abruptly, "I'm sorry to lose you, but you've got to go. It's on account of. that story of this morning." Sam made no . sign, bnt was deeply hurt.\ From a paper he had served bo loyally, this seemed scurvy treatment. It struck him also that, considering the spirit m which the story had been written, it was causing him more kinds of trouble than was qhite fair. The loss of position did not disturb him. In the last month too many managing editors had tried to steal him from the Republic for him. to feel anxious as to the future. So he. accepted this dismissal calmly, and could say, Avithout resentment: "Last night 1. thought you liked the story sir?" '.'' . "I did," returned Elliot; "I liked it so much that I'm sending you to a bigger place, where you can get bigger stories. . We Avant y«m to net, as our special correspondent m London. Mr Walsh Avill explain the work ;. and if you'll go yiu'll sail next "Wednesday." After his talk with the foreign editor Sam again Avalked home ... on air. He could not believe it was real — that it was actually to. him it had happened; for hereafter he was to witness the march of great events, to v come m contact with men of international interests. Instead of reporting . what was of concern only from the Battery to FortyI seventh street, he would now tell New j York what was of interest m Europe and I the British Empire, and so to the whole I world. There was one drawback only to his happiness— -there, was no one with whom he might divide it. He wanted ( to celebrate his good fortune; he wanted to share it with someone who would | understand how much it meant to him, who would really care. Had .Sister Anne lived, she would have understood; and he wbuld have laid himself and his new position at her. feet and begged her to accept them— -begged, her to rum away with him to this tremendous and terrifying capital of the Avorld, and start the new life together. Among all the Avomen he. knew, however, there was nono to take her place. Certainly Anita Flagg could not take her place. Not because she was rich, not because she had jeered at him and made him a laughing stock, not because, his admiration — and he blushed Avhen he remembered hoAV openly, how , ingenuously he had shown it to her — meant nothing; but because the girl he thought she avrs, tho girl he. had made dreams about and Avanted to marry without a moment's notice, Avould havo seen that what he offered, ridiculous as it atm when offered to Anita Flagg, was not ridiculous when offered sincerely to a tired, overworn, overworked nurse m a hospital. . It was because Artit* Flagg had not seen that she could noi now make it up to him for the girl he had lost, even though she herself had inspired that girl and for a day given her existence. Had he known it, *thfe, Anita Flagg of his imagining was just as unlike andaa unfair to the real girl as it Avas possible for tAvo people to be. His Anita Flagg | he had created out of the things he had read of her m impertinent Sunday Supplements and from the impression he had been given of her by the little ass, Holworthy. >She Avas not at all like that. Ever since she had come of age she had been beset by sycophants and flatterers, both old nnd young, both men and girls, and by men who wanted her money and by men who wanted her. And it was 1 because she got the motives of the lattev tAro confused that she was so often. hurt and said sharp, bitter things that made her appear hard and heartless. As a matter of fact, m approaching her m the belief that he Avas addressing an entirely different person, Sam had got nearer to the real Anita Flagg tham had any other man. And she knew* it; but Sam did.npt know it. And so — who* on arriving at the offiss the msxt moraing, which was a Friday, he reeeitad a telegram reading, "Arriving to-morroW» nine-thirty from Greenwich ; the day cannot begin too soon ; don't forget yoa promised* to meet me. Anita Flagg*Vhe was able to reply : "Extremely sorry ; but promise made to a different person ; wha unfortunately has since died!"

When Anita Flagg read this telegram tlwre leaped to her lovely eyes tears that sprang from self pity and Avounded feelings. She turned miserably, appealingly fo Helen Page. "But why does he do it to me?" Her tone wa.s Ihat. of a bewildered child who Las st rack her head against . the- table ancl from the naughty table, without cause or proA-ocation, has received the devil of a bump. Before Miss Page could venture upon an explanation, Anita Flagg had changed into a very angry young Avoman. ; , "And what's more," she announced, "he can't do it to me !" She sent her telegram back again as it was, AVorcl for word, but this time it Iras signed. "Sister Anne." In an hour the -answer came: "Sister Anne is the person to Avhom I refer. She is dead." Sam Avas not altogether at ease at tho outcome of his adA'enture. It .was not m his nature to be rude— certainly not to ai woman, especially not to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. For; •whether her name Avas Anita or Anne, aßtfOt her beauty there could . be .-. no algnment; but he assured .himself, that Me Bad acted within -.his - rights^ A girl who could see m a well-meant offer to be kind only a subject for ridicule \va_ 0_ no interest to him. Nor did her tele, grams insisting upon .continuing' their acquaintance flatter him. Ash', read them, they showed only that jshe .Icokpr). upon him ns one entirely but, of her world — as one with Avhom she could do an unconventional thing; and make a good story about it lr.lc-r, knowing that it would be accepted as. one ,of her amusing caprices. He Avas determined he Avould- not lend himself to any such performance. And,, besides, he no longer AA'as a foot-loose, happy-go-lucky reporter. Hp no longer need seek 'for experiences and. material to turn into copy. He was. now. a mart, with a responsible ppsitioh-T-ohe who would soon be conferring Avith. Cabinet Ministers and putting ambassadors at their ease. He Avqndered if, a beautiful heiress, avliosc hand was sought m marriage by the nobility, of England would understand the importance of a London correspondent. Pie hoped . some; one would tell her.. He liked to think bf her as being considerably impressed arid a little unhappy. . •'■■'/ Saturday night he went to the theatre for which he had* purchased tickets. And he^Avent alone, for the place that Sister Anne Avas to have occupied could not be filled by another person. It Avould have been sacrilege. At- least, so it pleased him. to pretend. And all through dinner, Avhich he , ate alone at the same restaurant to which he bad intended taking "her, he continued to- pretend she.- was ' with him. And at tho theatre, where there A\*as going forward the most popular of all musical comedies, the seat next to him, Avhich to tho audience appeared wastefully empty, was to him 'filled with her gracious presence. That Sister Anne was not there — that the pretty' romance he had woven about her had ended, m disaster — filled him with real regret. He was glad he Avas leaving NeAV York, lie Avas glad he was goirig where nothing Avould remind him of her. . And then h. glanced vp — and looked straight into her eyes ! He Avas seated m ,the froinV roAv, directly on the aisle.. The seat Sister Anne Avas supposed to be occupying wa? on his right, and a feAv. seats farther tc his right row the stage box ; arid m the stage box, almost upon the stage, arid with the gIoAV of' the footlights * full "Ir. her face, Avas Anita Flagg, smiling delightedly clown on him. There were •others, with her. .He had a confused Impression of bulgirig shirtfronts, and shining silks and diamonds, and drooping plumes upon enormous hats. He thought he recognised Lord Deptford and Hohvorthy; but the. only person he distinguished clearly Avas Anita Flagg. The girl 'was all m black velvet, whfph was drawn to her figure like a wet bathing suit; round her throat was a, single string of pearls ; and on her liair ol golden rod Avas a great hat of black velvet, shaped like a bell, with the curving lips of a lily. Arid froni beneath its brim Anita Flagg, . sitting rigidly erect Avith her Avhitergloved ' hands resting lightly on her . knee, was gazing at him, smiling with pleasure, "with 'surprise, Avith excitement. .'..'. When she sa/vv that, m spite 'of her altered appearance, he recognised her she boAved so violently and' b,ent her, head bo eagerly that above her head the ,os ; trich plumes dipped and ctirtsied like Avheat m a stofrrL But Sam neither bowed nor curtsied. Instead, he turned his head slowly over his left shoulder, as though he thought she Avas riot speaking to him but to some one beyond him, across the aisle. And then his eyes -re': turned to the stage and did not. again look toward her. It was. riot the cut direct, but it vyas a cut that hurt; arid m their turn the eyes of . Miss Flagg quickly sought the stage. At the moment, the people m the' audience happened to be laughing, and she, force d a smile and then laughed Avitli them. " : Out of the corner of his eye Sarii could not help seeing, her .profile exposed pitilessly m tho glow of tlie footlights ; saw her lips trembl like those of a child about to cry; and then saAV the force-*---hard smilo — and lieard her laugh lightly and mechanically. "That's all she cares!" he told him self. . It seemed to him that m all he hear c of her, m everything she did, she. kepi robbing him still further of all that wai dear to him m Sister Anne. For ft"A r e minutes, conscious of t_t< footlights, Miss Flagg maintained, ripor ber lovely face a fixed arid intent ex pression, and then sloAvly and unobtru? ively drew back to a seat m the rear o the box. In its darkest recesses shj< found Holworthy, shut off from a vjev of tho stage by a barrier of women'i hats. "Your friend, Mr Ward," she begai abruptly, m a whisper, "is the rudest most ill-bred person I ever met. W^i I talked to him the other day I though he was nice. He Avas nice. But he hai behaved abominably — like a boor— liki a sulky child. Has he no sense of humor Because I played a joke on him, is tha any reason why he should hurt me. ?" "Hurt you?" exclaimed little Hoi worthy m amazenient. "Don't . be ridi culous ! Hoav could he hurt you? Wlr should you care how rude he is .Ward' a clever felloAv, but he fancies himself He's conceited. He's, good-looking ; an< a' lot of silly women have made such i fuss over him tliat when one laughs a him he can't understand it. That's thi trouble. I could see that Avhen I wa< telling hihi." ; "Telling him !" repeated Miss Flag— "Telling him .what ?"■. . , v ' 'About Avhat a funny story you madi of it," explained Hohvorlhy.' "Abbiit liii having the nerve to ask you to feed th< jnonkeys and to lunch with him." " •■■ ■

Miss Flagg interrupted' Avith a gasping intake of her breath, . ! "Oh !" sho.'saidusoftl}'. "So— so you told him that, did you? And— Avhat elso did you tell, him?" "Only- what you told vs — that he said 'the. day could not begin too soon'; that he said he Avouldn't let you be a manicure and Avash the hands of men who A\ r eren't fit to wash, -the streets you Avalked on." There Avas a pause. "Did I tell you he said that?" breathed Ani-*?. .Flagg.:. "You knoAv you 'did," said Holworthy. There Avas another pause. "I must have been mad !" said the girl. -•■.-:.. There Avas a longer pause and HolAvorthy shifted uneasily. "I'm afraid you aro angry," he ventured. , V ."Angry !" exclaimed Miss Flagg. "I should say I Avast angry ! — but not with you. ; I'm very pleased Avith you. At the end of tho act I'm going to let you take me out into the lobby." With his arnjs tightly folded, Sam sat staring unhappily -.at. the- stage and see : ing; nothing. He was.. sorry, for., himself because Anita Flagg had destroyed his ideal, of a sweet and no.ble .woman— and he Avas sorry for .Miss Flagg because a man had been . rude, to her. That he .lia.ppen.ed to be that man did not make liis soitoav and indignation the less intense; and, ..indeed,, so miserable. . Avere his looks, that his friends on the stage considered sending him a note offering, if he would take himself out of the front roAy, to .give him back. his money at the box office.. Sam certainly. Avished to take .himself, away,; but he did not want to admit, that he was . miserable, that he liad behaved ill, that the presence of Anita, Flagg could- spoil his eveningcould, m the slightest degree, affect him. , So he sat, completely. Avretched, , feeling that, be was m- a false position; that if , .he .were . .it ■ was his .own fault;, .that he had acted like an ass and. a brute. It Avas.not. a cheerful feeling. When . tho curtain fell he still, remained spated. . Hie knew . before the second act there >y as an interminable wait;.. bnt he did not Avant to -chance running into Hohvorthy m the lobby and -ho tald .himself it would be rude to abandon Sister Anne. .But he now. was ; riot ..so conscious, of the imaginary Sister Anne as- of fthe actual box party on his near right, who were laughing andchat- ', tering. • volpbly. He wondered Avhether they/ laughed at ' . hijn — whether Miss ; Flagg .-were again entertaining them at bite; .expense ;. again .making his advances appear ridiculous. He so sure of ! it that hp„flushed indignantly.. Pc was ■ glad, ho. 'had been rude. And.then, at his- elbQAv, there Avas the rustle, of- silk ; and a beautiful figure, all ! m (black velvet,, towered above him, then .crowded past him, and sank into the empty, seat at his, side. He was too: startled ,to speak—and Miss Anita Flagg '. seemed to understand that and to Avish ! to jjive him time; for, without regarding i him, m the least, and as though to establish the fact? that she had come to stay, i she. began palrnly and deliberately to re- ' moye the bell-like hat. This accomplished ; she bent toward him, her eyes looking ! straight into his, her smile reproaching s him* j In, a familiar tone of an old and '•s ear friend she said to him gently: VJThis is the day you planned for me. • Don' r t you think you've wasted quite I enough of it?" » Sam. looked back into the -eyes, and i saw m them no, trace of laughter or 1, of mockery, but,, instead^ gentle reproof f and appeal — and something else that ■ iu^tprn, begged of him to be gentle. [ I^pr a rapment, too disturbed to speak, [ he lookejl at her, miserably, reiriorse- ' luUy.. :.'.■-" "It's not Anita Flagg at all," hes^id. i "It's Sister Anne come back to. life I' again!" ; , .The. girl, shook, her head* -'*'•. "No; it's Anita Flagg. I'm not a bit I like tlie girl you thought \spu met and I did- say all the things Hohvorthy told [ ypu I said ; but that Avas before I under- : stood— -hef ore I read what you Wrote : about Sister . _\nne— about, the kind of me you'd thought you'd: met. When I ■ read, that I knew what sort of a man you w.ere. I knew you had dug out something that I did not know Avas there ; —that no one else had found. And I remembered. hoAv you called me Sister. I -mean the Ayay you said it.. And I ' wanted.- to h.ar it again. I wanted you ' to say it." . She lifted her face to his. She was very near.llim — so near that her shoulder 1 brushed against his ..arm.. .. In the box above them her friends, scandalised and :'. amused, were Avatching her Avith the greatest , interest. Half of the people . m the noAv half-empty house were watching them Avith the greatest j interest. To them, . betAveen reading, adyertisoment.s bn the programme and watching .Anita : Flagg making.. desperate love to a lucky 1 youth jn ..th^ front row,, there was no, ' question of which to choose The young people m tlie front roAv did not know they were observed. They \ -were alone—as much alone as though , they were seated. in a biplane, sweeping ' aboye the clonds. ''Say it agajn,": prompted Anita Flagg. ' "Say Sistey,",.. .•'.. -,'..!. ' "I avUI not!" returned the young man '.firmly. "But I'll say this," he whhv r pered-: .'TU say you're the most .won--. . derful, the, most beautiful and ,the finest • Avomaii who has ever lived !" Anita Flagg's eyes left his quickly; ' and Avith her head bent, she, stared at >> the. bass drum m the orchestra, 3 "I . don't knoAv," -. she said, "but . that sounds just as good." • ! , When, the curtain was about to rise 1 she told him to take her back to her box,' - so, that he could .meet her, friends and - go, pn with them to. supper ; but when f they reached the rear of the house she i halted. •*-. "We can see this act," she said, "or — 3 my car's m front of the theatre — we might go to the pari;: and take a turn or 1 two-ror three. Whicli Avould you pre- > fer?" "* "Don't make me laugh !" said Sam. t • As they, sat all together at supper "*, with those of the box, party, but paying s ., no. attention -to them whatsoever, Anita • Flagg sighed contentedly. t .''There's only one tiling," she said to Sam, "that, is making < N me. unhappy ; and - because it is such sad hcavs I haven't - to\d you. It is this : I am leaving r America. lam going to spend the s Avinter m London. I sail next Wednes- . day." 1 "My business is to gather news," said _ Sam," but m all my life I .never gathert edtsuch good news as that."' . ."Good neAVS !" exclaimed Anita. s "Because," explained Sam, "I am leaving America— l am spending the J winter m England— l am . sailing on Wednesday ; No ; I also am unhappy, but Wat is not . what makes me unJ happy." 3 : "Tell me," begged Anita. 3 "Some day," said Sam. The day he choae to tell hex: Vas the

first day they Avere at sea — as they leaned upon the rail, watching Fire .Island disappear. . ,_, „.. „ , ;> "This is my unhappiness," said Sam — and he pointed to a name on the pas- j senger list. It was: "Tho Earl of Deptford. and \*al'et. "And because he is on • board ,'" j Anita Flagg gazed Avith interest at- a pursuing gull.' -„:•..-, "He is not on board," she said. "He changed to another boat." Sam felt that by a Avord from her a great Aveight might be lifted from liis soul. Ho looked at her appealingly — hungrily. "Why did he change?" he begged; Anita Flagg shook her head m wonder. She "'smiled at "hint Avith "amused despai.. •-■ ' | "Is that all that 'is Avorrying you?" she said. ' ■■■■'.-., ■-•.. .■ j