Classic Audiobook Collection - The Blythe Girls - Helen, Margy and Rose by Laura Lee Hope ~ Full Audiobook [family]

Episode Date: December 7, 2024

The Blythe Girls - Helen, Margy and Rose by Laura Lee Hope audiobook. Genre: family Left suddenly to make their own way, three sisters from the country step into the noise and promise of New York City with little more than courage and each other. Helen Blythe, quiet but determined, dreams of earning a living through her art. Practical, ambitious Margy, fresh from business school, hunts for a position that will keep their small apartment afloat. And plain-spoken Rose, ready to tackle any honest work, finds a foothold in a bustling department store. But the great metropolis is not gentle with newcomers. Weeks of disappointment and thin budgets test the sisters' resolve, and when success finally seems close, trouble follows: workplace rivalries flare, reputations are threatened, and an accusation of theft puts Rose's hard-won job at risk. Margy, meanwhile, is drawn into the strange household of an eccentric employer where a spoiled nephew's schemes can ruin an honest girl with a single trick. As setbacks pile up, Helen, Margy, and Rose must learn whom to trust, how to stand up for themselves, and how to keep hope alive when the city seems determined to push them down. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:12:27) Chapter 02 (00:20:00) Chapter 03 (00:27:46) Chapter 04 (00:35:12) Chapter 05 (00:54:17) Chapter 06 (01:05:08) Chapter 07 (01:15:45) Chapter 08 (01:26:55) Chapter 09 (01:37:18) Chapter 10 (01:46:52) Chapter 11 (01:56:22) Chapter 12 (02:10:28) Chapter 13 (02:28:43) Chapter 14 (02:37:24) Chapter 15 (02:47:53) Chapter 16 (02:56:17) Chapter 17 (03:05:06) Chapter 18 (03:20:46) Chapter 19 (03:26:47) Chapter 20 (03:41:35) Chapter 21 (03:52:17) Chapter 22 (04:03:49) Chapter 23 (04:13:21) Chapter 24 (04:21:03) Chapter 25 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose, Chapter 1, Uprooted. Well, here we are! Rose Blythe, fair-haired, blue-eyed and pretty, sat down upon one of the several upturned trunks and looked about her disconsolately. The apartment was littered with luggage and personal belongings, for as far as she could see down the vista of Hall, that ended abruptly and unpleasantly in a small and dingy dining room. everywhere was disorder and confusion, the inevitable result of a hasty moving. The moving men had been in a tremendous hurry, she thought resentfully.

They might at least have waited to put some of the things in order. This reflection proved, beyond a doubt, two things, that Rose was just turned 16 and that she had never before experienced the unpleasant business of moving. Well, here we are, she repeated gloomily. and her sister Margie, who had been superintending the placing of a bundle of umbrellas on top of the swathed and utterly disguised piano, turned to her younger sister with a sympathetic smile. Cheer up, child, she said in the cheery tone that always seemed to be hiding a laugh. It really isn't as bad as you look.

Just wait till we get things straightened out a bit. You won't know the place. Margie Blythe was only a year and a half older than Rose, but she seemed more than that. perhaps it was her dark hair that made the difference or perhaps it was only the fact that she was by nature practical and clear thinking acting often as a check upon her more temperamental sister helen the third and oldest of the blythe girls came in from a last conference with the moving men they are gone she announced sinking down upon an immense old couch that seemed far too large for the tiny dining room and most of our money has gone with them, too. I never knew moving was so expensive. Well, if we have enough left to buy us an evening meal, you had better stand and deliver it once, my dear, said Margie, reaching energetically for her hat. But Rose had crushed her own small straw upon her golden

curls and had already possessed herself of the family pocketbook. I'll go, Margie, she announced, glad enough to be away from the disheartening confusion for a little while. You stay with Helen and rest a while. Oh, yes, we'll rest, said Margie ironically, while Helen called anxiously after the youngest. Don't bring in pickled pigs' feet and potato salad the way you did last time, Kitty. We want something filling, you know.

Sure, roast pork, baked apples, potatoes, green peas, and peach pie, returned the youngest, irrepressibly. As a little provider, I'll tell you right now, I'm there. whew, now who may you be? This last remark was addressed to a young man who stood in the doorway of the apartment, dangling a curious-looking object in his hand. Upon closer inspection, Rose recognized the young man as the boss of the moving men, officially known as the office manager of the Reynolds moving company,

and the curious-looking object in his hand as a vegetable strainer, grown old in the service of the Blythe family. Is this for me? asked Rose, and at her impish grin, the young man grinned back. The men overlooked it, he said, adding with a widening of his grin, had a notion you might be needin it soon. And before Rose could properly thank him, he had dodged about and was gone. Seems to be of a bashful disposition, Rose confided to her two sisters.

But good-looking, I'll say he's the, Rose Blythe, if you use any more of that horrible slang, I'll ship you right back to Riverdale, Helen threatened. and Rose made a laughing face at her. If you think that's a threat, you're mistaken, old dear, she jibed. It's a promise. With this, she fox trotted across the threshold, went out into the hall, blithely slamming the door to behind her.

The girls heard her running lightly down the stairs. There was no elevator in the apartment house, in which they had sought shelter, and it was a long, long way to the street. The two girls left alone in the tumbled apartment, looked at each other significantly, and Helen sighed. Rose is a dreadful problem, she said. It seems only yesterday that she was a kitty, and now look at her. Pretty easy to look at, I should say, retorted Margie briskly,

and Helen took her up with unusual vehemence. That's just the point, she cried. If Rose were an ugly duckling, I shouldn't worry, but she's so pretty, and now we're here in New York. she left the sentence unfinished and Margie looked at her quizzically. A drift in a big city, is that it? she asked, and Helen laughed. Not exactly a drift, as long as we have this apartment to anchor to, she said. Then she gave a glance of discouragement at the confusion around her.

But isn't it an awful place? she asked. Well, we won't make it any better by sitting and looking at it, suggested Margie practically. Anyway, the view from the windows isn't so bad. Margie crossed over to one of the large windows in the living room, and her sister followed, putting an arm around her shoulders. What they saw was, as Margie had said, not so bad. The apartment house in which they had taken refuge was situated on a rather steep rise of ground, and before it was a gently sloping vista of open lots and scattered apartment houses. In a short time, all these vacant lots would be occupied, no doubt, by ugly, sky-towering buildings,

but for the present the view, such as it was, was not greatly obstructed. "'Feel that breeze,' said Helen, as a faint puff of air blew the fair hair about her face. "'And listen to that hurdy-gurdy,' retorted her sister, disgustedly, as she leaned farther out the window to get a better view of the wilted-looking musician and his decrepit hand-organ. Several children had gathered around and were listening in apparent enjoyment to the tinny strains of the sextet from Lucia played in modern jazz tempo. Anyway, the kitties are happy, added Margie. Helen sighed involuntarily as she turned from the window. I suppose we had better unpack the dishes first, she said.

If Rose ever gets back with her pork and peach pie, we'll probably need them. Helen Blythe was a tall, slender girl with a mass of ash-blonde hair, which she wore piled high on her head. She was a great deal like Rose, although not so vivid a type. Whereas her hair was fair, it was very light, almost washed out, while Rose's bobbed curls were a warm gold, seeming in some lights almost red. Although her eyes, like the eyes of her younger sister, were blue, Helens were dreamy and brooding. while those of the younger girls sparkled with life and vivacity. Helen was the artist of the family. In Riverdale, a small town on Long Island where they had lived for many years,

she had been pronounced unusually talented, and a great future had been predicted for her by admiring neighbors and friends. But Helen, though she loved their praise, was far too level-headed to be spoiled by it. She knew that she had a certain amount of talent, and that she loved to paint and draw, but she knew also that it would require years of patient study and effort before she could hope to accomplish anything great.

They had been a happy family in the big rambling old homestead with its many rooms and air of comfort. Then their mother had died three years before. Helen was very like her mother, who had cherished dreams of an artistic career and had died with those dreams still unfulfilled. Helen knew, as she thought fondly and longingly of that tall, placid, dreamy-eyed mother, that her art had, after all, found the highest form of expression.

She had filled the home with beauty and sunshine and harmony of thought, made it so attractive, so bright and pleasant to them all, that they could not bear to leave it and always went back to it eagerly as the one spot of perfect peace and harmony. Yet her mother had whispered to her in that love, last hour, when all things seemed to stand still in a breathless, frightened silence, and, as the heart of the home, prepared to take the sunshine with her, had whispered so faintly that Helen could scarcely make out the import of the words. Make the most of your talent, dear. Don't let anyone

discourage you or turn you aside from your purpose. If you could do what your mother has always dreamed of doing, I think I should be very happy in heaven. Helen had cried from the depths of a breaking heart. Mother darling, I will try. Oh, I will try. Then the sunshine had gone, and the dear home was a home no longer, but just a place in which to live. Her father, once so carefree, rollicking in Mary, could not survive. of long that departure. It was as though a plant, thriving in the light of the sun, had been suddenly transplanted to a dark cellar. Just a year after their mother's death, the Blythe girls had faced each other in the living room of the old house, and knew themselves not only motherless

and fatherless, but almost penniless. Their father, though a brilliant man and lovable, had never been a financial success. He had made enough for them to live on comfortably, and that he deemed sufficient. He had left a small life insurance, and it was on this that the girls had lived for two of the most miserable years they had known. They had not owned the old homestead. If they had, their problem would have been fairly simple. With the income from the life insurance and what money they could have made by taking small positions in Riverdale, they might have managed to get along comfortably enough. But the home was rented,

and the rental seemed alarmingly high to the girls. It had been so large, in fact, that they had not been able to live on the income from their small, invested capital, and had been forced to see the principal gradually dwindle. Margie, the practical one,

had long since urged that they give up the house, which was a, quote, white elephant eating off its head, pack up a few sticks of furniture, and moved to the city where they could find employment and have a chance of making enough money to live on. Helen, because of her mother, had dreaded giving up the old house, but at last had been forced to see the wisdom of Margie's viewpoint.

So they had taken stock of their assets, which were few, and their liabilities, which were many, and had found that after scrupulously paying all they owed, they had enough money to pay the moving men and the first month's rental on a New York apartment. With economy, they might be able to meet expenses, feed and clove themselves for another month. That was all. They did not dare to think beyond that time. Oh, nonsense, Margie had said in her most optimistic mood. By the end of the month, we shall have scrumptious jobs and be just rolling in money.

End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 The Blythe Girls Helen, Margie and Rose by Laura Lee Hope This Liverbox recording is in the public domain Chapter 2 Problems

The Great Step had now been taken The moving was over and the Blythe girls were fairly set for the great adventure After much searching and skinning of knuckles Margie and Helen succeeded in discovering the hiding place of the barrel of dishes, and Margie, seemingly miraculously, drew forth a hammer and tack-puller

from one of the boxes. What do you bet they are all broken? said the latter cheerfully. I mean the dishes, not my knuckles, although there's an even chance either way, she added ruefully. You poor dear, let me take a hand now. There, and you always said I never had any strength. The cover was off, and the dishes that had been packed with such loving, were disclosed. Most of the china had been decorated by their mother and was priceless to them in consequence. Not one piece was broken, which seemed to them an omen of good luck.

Carefully, they transported it to the little cubbyhole of a kitchen behind the dark and dingy dining room. They resolutely kept up a cheerful front while Margie hastily scrubbed down the shelves of an inconvenient cupboard, and Helen washed and wiped the precious china till it gleamed. when the shelves of the closet were freshly lined with white paper and the dishes safely bestowed upon them the girls felt somehow better and more cheerful we have something that looks a little bit more like home anyway said margie now for the table linen have you any idea where it was packed now helen admitted that she had not the slightest idea and together they went in search of it they found it presently and proceeded to set the table when it was all done they sat down for the table when it was all done they sat down for for a moment to take breath and looked at each other. The kitty isn't back yet, said Helen, voicing the thought of them both. Now, where do you suppose she can be?

A door slammed noisily at the end of the hall, and Rose herself answered the question. She came into the room, flushed and bright-eyed to meet a reproach from Helen. You must try not to slam doors like that, Rose, she said. We are not in a house all by ourselves now, you know, and the other tenants must might object if we made too much noise. Sort of like being in jail, isn't it? queried Rose with a grin that tried to be cheerful but deceived no one. All right, I'll try to remember, Nell.

Now look here and see what I brought you. Isn't this ever so much better than stodgy old roast pork? She undid the parcel in her hands and proudly displayed its contents. The girls watched with dismay as she extracted three large pickles, some indigestible-looking celery salad, a chunk of highly seasoned meatloaf, and some of the greasiest donuts it had ever been their bad fortune to look upon. Even Margie was disgusted this time, and slapped on a hat over her disordered hair to go out and get some, quote, regular food.

Well, of all the old fogies, exclaimed Rose, as the door closed after her disgruntled sister. What's the matter with this dinner I'd like to know? It's good and nourishing, isn't it? Yes, and indigestible, said Helen wearily. I do wish you would use a little more judgment, Kitty. And I do wish you would stop calling me Kitty, said Rose, suddenly vehement. It sounds so silly, especially since I'm almost grown up. A few minutes later, Margie arrived with some lamb chops and peas,

and it was not long before a pleasant aroma was wafting its fragrance through the dingy and disorderly rooms. They ate, too. Oh, how they ate, with the ravenous appetites of young folks who have gone without sustenance for an unusually long period. After they had eaten, they cleared up the dishes with a little more enthusiasm and set to work getting the beds ready for the night. This was not such an easy task, since both the big double bed and the cot, which was to accommodate eight rows, were leaning against the wall in the living room with a small army of bundles and boxes

piled against them. When the big bed had finally been set up in the larger of the two cubby holes that must answer for bedrooms, the mattress unearthed and dragged into its proper resting place upon the springs, the bedding found and sorted. The girls were about ready to drop with fatigue. And we still have that old cot to move, cried Rose, as she flung herself upon the bed, kicked off one shoe and rubbed a painful instep. To tell the truth, I'd rather hang up on a peg all night than budge again. Poor kitty, said Helen, looking pityingly at the bundle of discontent, curled up on the foot of the bed. You don't have to budge. Just get in your nighty, and we'll have the cot ready in a jiffy.

You are just spoiling that girl, Nell, said Margie in a low tone, as she and Helen went back for the cot. You shouldn't wait on her like that. She could be, getting out the bed linen. We none of us feel as fresh as the morning, you know. At last, everything was in readiness. The doors and windows were all locked, the lights all out, and nothing remained but to cuddle into bed and sleep. But they did not sleep. Over fatigue, the strangeness of their surroundings, anxiety about their future, all combined to keep them wakeful and restless during the greater part of the night. It was hot. It was hot. too, breathlessly hot and stuffy in their little cubby holes where the only air that entered

their windows was through an open court. Somebody in the apartment below them was having a late party, playing jazz upon a player piano, whose syncopated rhythm jarred unbearably upon their taut nerves. It was horrible, a nightmare of sights and sounds and smells that assailed their senses and made them long achingly for the rambling old homestead in Riverdale, where there was nothing to break the stillness but the song of crickets and the croaking of frogs in the pool behind the house where a soft, flower-scented breeze made bearable even the hottest nights. It was nearly dawned before any of them fell asleep, and the sun was high in the heavens before they opened heavy eyes upon the problems of a new day. Isn't the noise awful? asked Margie, as she sat upon the

edge of the bed, swinging a listless foot. I feel as though I have had to shout to make you hear it all. Helen brushed her hair thoughtfully and nodded. It wouldn't be so bad if we were not on a streetcar line. And in that case, we would have had to pay just twice as much for this flat as we are doing, said Margie. Then she added with the humorous twist of her mouth, and if you can tell me how on earth that could be managed, I'll be very proud of you, Helen Blythe. And I, said Helen, with a wry smile at her reflection in the mirror would be very proud of myself. End of chapter two.

Chapter 3 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 3. The Strainer Man. After breakfast, which consisted of scrambled eggs, burned toast, and not very excellent coffee, Helen called a council in the living room. we have to decide what we're going to do girls and then do it as quickly as possible it seems to me it will be a great deal easier to decide what we're going to do than to do it said rose sitting cross-legged on the couch and munching at one of the very greasy donuts she'd brought home the night before if all you read in the paper is true there are a great many more girls wanting jobs than there are jobs to go around if you begin your career by believing all the papers say i certainly feel sorry to you for you, remarked Margie, roundly. Then she said, as her eyes fell upon the partially devoured donut,

I wish you'd put down that horrible thing, Rose, it makes me sick just to look at it. I am putting it down, the right way, chuckled Rose, and as long as it only makes me sick, you should worry. But go on, Nell, you were saying something, weren't you? I thought I was, retorted Helen dryly. And I think you had better not take this matter so lightly, Rose, it really isn't anything to laugh about. Well, you don't see me laughing, do you? protested Rose, her mouth full of donut. To tell you the truth, I am just about ready to burst into tears,

only that I know it would ruin my complexion. Not half as much as that donut will, laughed Margie, adding seriously as she turned back to Helen. You were right about our deciding at once what we're going to do, Nell. You will stay home here, of course, she added decidedly, and keep house for us and go on with your art. As for me, she hesitated doubtfully. I can use the typewriter, and I know a little bit about stenography.

Oh, you're in luck, Margie Blythe, cried Rose, abandoning her cross-legged position on the couch and speaking eagerly. Stenogs draw down tremendous salaries, and with your brains and looks and everything, it won't be any time at all, before you get to be a private secretary. And then your boss, he's sure to be a millionaire, We'll fall in love with you. I suppose he won't have anything else to do, agreed Margie,

dryly adding, with a chuckle. You forget, Rose, that it's only in storybooks, that the employer is young and handsome. Probably my boss, if I'm lucky enough to get one, will be a crab-doll body, blind in one eye and with chronic indigestion. What difference would that make? said Rose calmly, if he had plenty of money. Helen and Margie looked at their little sister,

in wide-eyed surprise and were about to launch on a lecture when they saw that she was laughing. Well, now that I am successfully married off to my wealthy employer, said Margie, turning with a laugh to the still serious Helen, what shall we do with this little imp here? She isn't really good for anything, except to be spanked. What do you want to do, Rose? asked Helen. I'm going to get a store job. They pay pretty good money and you get good experience if you're willing to store.

start from the bottom and work up? Rose spoke defiantly, as if expecting opposition, and was ready for it. And it's lots of fun, too. You meet so many people and—and everything, she ended, rather lamely. The two older girls did not react to this plan, as she had feared they would. They merely exchanged significant glances and then looked long and thoughtfully at Rose. Oh, stop staring, do! the latter exclaimed vehemently. by this prolonged scrutiny.

Really, I'm not a curiosity. Only an ordinary girl trying to find the best and quickest way of making money. You could study stenography, too. Go to school with me, Margie began slowly, but Rose shook her golden-bobbed head emphatically. I don't want to go to school. I had enough of it in Riverdale.

What I want to do now is to make some real money and see something of life. Oh, you'll do that all right, said Margie dryly. There is one thing about a job in a department store. You certainly do meet people of all kinds. Helen gave Margie a warning glance and put an arm about her youngest sister. It's all right, dear. If you're sure, that's what you want to do,

she said with an explosive sigh of relief, as Rose snuggled closer. If at any time you want to change, to do something else, we can arrange that too. Of course, the most important thing just now is to start the money. rolling in. Rose jumped to her feet, her eyes shining. You're a perfect brick knell. I thought you maybe wouldn't let me. Oh dear, where's my hat? Where are you going now? asked Helen, bewildered, as always, by her sister's abrupt changes of mood. To get a job, of course, replied the girl. But as she charged toward the hall, she was caught and held firmly by the practical Margie. Hold your horses, my dear, she drawled. Do you think jobs

grow on trees around here, just waiting to be picked up? Let me go, cried Rose impatiently, but Helen added her voice to Margie's. I'll need you at home today, Rose. And Rose knew that for all of Helen's gentleness, when she spoke in that tone, she generally meant what she said. We have to unpack and get to rights, and I couldn't possibly do it all by myself. And tonight we will get a paper and look up ads, added Margie, releasing her hold of the crestfallen Rose,

you have to go about this business systematically, dear. Now be a good girl and take off your hat. Rose obeyed, flinging the hat among a clutter of boxes in one corner of the room. Oh, well, all right, she said sulkily. If I have to stay in this hole, it's no worse for you than for the rest of us, began Margie heatedly, and Helen hastily assumed her role of peacemaker. Rose was often irritating and capricious, and Margie possessed a temper that got the better of her at times,

so that Helen often found it a hard task to keep the peace between the two. We haven't said a word about what I am going to do, she reminded them cheerfully, and as I am not at all sure about it myself, I would welcome suggestions. Rose said nothing. She had gone over to the window and was sulkily staring down at the busy street. Margie looked at her sister in surprise. Why, I thought we had settled all that, she said. You're to stay at home and keep house for us and go on with your art studies.

I should think you would be able to take a course in the afternoon so that you wouldn't have to give up your evenings. Helen shook her head and there was an infinite wistfulness in her eyes. I should like that, of course, she admitted. But you know courses cost money. Oh, pasha, the kitty and I will soon be making enough money to put you through a dozen courses, you dear old simpleton, cried Margie gaily. Then, as she saw that Helen was not fully convinced, she added,

and maybe you'll be able to sell some of your sketches after a while, Nell. Say, girls, who do you think is coming? cried Rose, turning to them, her face-all animation again. It's that good-looking strainer man. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4. The Blythe Girls Helen, Margie, and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 4. The First Day

The two sisters exchanged a look of helplessness. Now what do you suppose the child means by that? asked Margie, as Rose made a dash down the long hall toward the kitchen. The heat must have affected her brain. But there came a ring at the doorbell at that moment. moment, and Rose pressed the buzzer in the kitchen that magically unlocked the downstairs door. That buzzer was one of the few things about the apartment that Rose liked. It was as fascinating to her as a new toy to a child, and she was delighted to be able to use it, especially for the admittance

of the good-looking strainer man. The latter proved to be none other than Joe Morris, the young man who had so sheepishly presented Rose with the family strainer on the preceding afternoon. He was looking sheepish again now as he stood twirling his cap in the doorway, and the impish rose had a moment of wondering whether he had taken the expression off overnight or had worn it to bed with him. It was Helen who had the presence of mind enough to invite the young man in and ask him what he wanted. I suppose you'll think I'm taking a great liberty, and I probably am, he said in a pleasant voice that exactly matched his nice face, but I got to think of you three girls here alone without a man to drive a nail for you, but to help you in any way?

And I reckon maybe you wouldn't think it too bold to me if I offered to set your furniture to rights for you, and maybe hang a picture or two. I bet he swings a wicked hammer, murmured Rose, in a stage whisper that carried, as it was meant to do. Joe Morris flushed and grinned good-naturedly. I'll bet I do, he retorted. Then he turned cajolingly to Helen. Are you going to let me prove my fitness for the job of?

all-round handyman, he asked. Helen hesitated, feeling greatly embarrassed. It was hard for her to take favors from anyone, but they certainly did need a man's strength in the work of getting to rights. And Joe Morris was an extremely likable young fellow whose smile was hard to resist. It doesn't seem right to take your time, she objected faintly, but he waved aside this objection as immaterial.

My time is my own today to do with as I will. he proclaimed. This is my day of rest. And you propose to spend it in the quiet pastime of hanging pictures? said the practical Margie. You have a funny way of taking your rest, Mr. Morris. For goodness sake, let him set to work, Helen. What are you waiting for? cried Rose.

Here's a man who wants to work. Better snap him up before he changes his mind. There speaks the modern business girl, said Joe Morris, turning his laughing gaze upon the youngest Blythe girl. Not yet, but soon, she retorted flippantly, adding in response to the young fellow's puzzled stare, I haven't had a chance to look for a job yet. Well, you ought to land one in a hurry, said Joe Morris. The young moving man seemed to be everywhere at once, pulling, hauling, suggesting,

and interspersing his labor with jokes that amuse the girls and kept them from a full realization of the terrific heat and their own great weariness. There was satisfaction in the work, too, for as though by magic the apartment began to take shape and form and color, becoming neat and almost home-like as the familiar furniture found convenient resting places. At last, all was accomplished and Joe Morris suggested refreshments. Helen, thinking he meant to invite himself to lunch, was dismayed. There was not a thing in the house to eat except the unpalatable delicatessen fare that Rose had brought. brought home the night before, and she was hastily forming plans for slipping out to market unobserved when the young man solved her problem for her.

There's a little restaurant on the next block, he said. Just opened about a week ago, and I hear they got pretty good eats. Let's go and prove it. Helen demurred, for she felt they were accepting too much from the agreeable young fellow, but the two other girls overbore her objections and hustled her forth into the burning street. It was terrible weather, July heat in June, and the city gleamed like a bowl of molten gold beneath the fierce rays of the sun. The cool interior of the little restaurant to which Joe Morris piloted them was very gratifying, and they sat down in the stiff and uncomfortable

seats about the small white-top table with size of relief. The place was half full of people seeking like relief from the heat, and as Joe Morris expertly ordered, luncheon, the girls looked about them with interest. It was their first real contact with genuine New Yorkers, and they were disappointed. The clientele seemed composed mostly of middle-aged women looking discouraged and bedraggled and wilted by the terrific heat. But this was not the real New York of romantic fiction, they reminded themselves. Because they were low in funds, they had been forced to take an apartment well up toward the two hundredths, and that, as Rose had discontentedly remark, was almost as bad as not living in New York at all. They delightedly ate the tasty luncheon

Joe Morris ordered for them and were reluctant to leave the cool interior of the restaurant for the dinginess and heat of their little five-room flat. You girls didn't know when you were well off, Joe Morris told them as he paid the check and followed them into the sweltering street. Anyone who had a chance to stay in Riverdale, especially in such a delightful old house as you had there, and then comes to this dirty, noisy burgh? He didn't finish the sentence, but shook his head as one surprised and dismayed by the idiocy of most mortals.

As it happens, said Rose with a shake of her golden head, we didn't have any choice. Joe Morris regarded her speculatively for a moment, while Margie flung her sister a look of reproof at having thus led a comparative stranger into their family secrets. That's pretty tough luck, said the young man. moving man at last, and they finished the short walk to the apartment house in thoughtful silence.

Once at the door of the apartment he had helped to put in order, Joe Morris hesitated. It was evident that he was reluctant to go, but it was equally evident that he had no further excuse for lingering. He had done all he could do, and the polite and proper thing for him to do was to say goodbye without further delay. The bashfulness that had characterized his actions the day before had returned, and he found great difficulty in making the simple request that the girls accompany him to a moving picture show that evening. Helen thanked him but refused, saying that though they were very grateful to him for his kindness, they would be too tired to go anywhere that evening. When he found that nothing could make her change her mind, Morris at last took

his departure, saying that he hoped to see them soon again. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 The Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose by Laura Lee Hope. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 5. Good News Thanks to Joe Morris and their own exertions, dinner that evening was not such a hectic affair as it had been the night before. The heat had marred their appetites, but the food soothed and rusted them.

Rose had bought a paper of a passing newsbook, and during the meal had sat with the want advertisement section spread out beside her plate, devouring the sheet as though it were a page from the Arabian nights. There are no ends of places for you, Margie, she said once, looking up to regard her sister enviously over the top of the paper. All you have to do is just step out and grab a place for a typist, steno, or private secretary. Don't I wish it were as simple as all that? exclaimed Margie ruefully, as she munched on a piece of celery.

I imagine I'll have to do more than just put my head in the grab-bag kid, or, uh, excuse me, Rose. Rose looked up suspiciously from her paper, but Margie's expression was grave enough to lull her suspicions to rest. She returned to a perusal of the paper. There are plenty of ads for file clerks, but that's one thing I know I haven't any talent for. The only one, murmured Margie wickedly,

and Helen threw her a warning glance. but Rose was far too deeply absorbed in her occupation to notice sarcasm. Look, here it is! She cried in triumph, running around the table so that Helen might share her joy. Here is the very position I've been looking for. She held a white finger over a particular place in the column, and Helen read an advertisement for a clerk in a department store. Good salary to start and splendid opportunities for advancement.

I hope you get it, dear, or one like it, said Helen, as she rose to remove the dishes, we surely do need a wage earner in this family right away. But in spite of the need, it seemed for a weary while, as though no one of the three Blythe girls was to be permitted to earn any money at all. They soon learned that in spite of the glittering promises of the want advertisements, employers of all sorts and kinds

invariably demanded one thing of them, experience, and that one thing they did not. have. It hampered them terribly. They began to hate the very word, experience. It seemed that without that elusive thing, they were to be denied even a decent living in that great heartless city which their reading had endowed with so much glamour. But you have to get your experience somewhere, Rose had wailed after one particularly discouraging day. All those experienced people have to start some time, and when they start, they have to start like us, without experience. There are a few positions that don't demand experience.

Helen reminded her gently, but you say yourself you won't even consider them. And I won't, cried Rose passionately, almost in tears. I could have been an errand girl running around all day for a little bit of money that wouldn't begin to cover expenses. But if it gave you experience, suggested Helen, still more gently, but Rose only shook her head stubbornly. I would rather starve, she said, and the older girl, knew she meant it. If only there were money to train the girl for some special occupation or profession, she thought wistfully, but there was not. There was not enough to make it possible even for Helen to continue her art lessons. How much have we got left, Nell? Margie spoke from her

corner where she had pretended to be reading a book, with such suddenness that the two girls started. Helen hesitated, pretending not to understand Margie's question. How much what? She evaded. You know what I mean as well as I do, Margie told her brusquely. I want to know how much money we have between us and starvation. Helen's fair skin suddenly became suffused with color. She turned her eyes away from Margie's searching ones. We have just enough to last for another two weeks, she said, in a voice that was almost inaudible. Enough to buy us food and pay our expenses traveling back and forth.

Margie continued, inexorably, and Helen nodded. Then, at the end of the two weeks, what do we do? Margie's harsh young voice, too, had sunk till it was almost a whisper. What do we do then, Nell? Don't ask her, you know as well as she does, cried Rose, with a protective arm flung suddenly about her eldest sister. If we don't find something to do before the end of this week, we'll starve, that's all. We'll not be paid in advance, you know.

She added bitterly. We have to get some money some way, said Margie, as though talking to herself. Before the end of this week, I am going to have a job. But she did not, and neither did Rose. Another week lagged on like a long nightmare, while Helen, with an ingenuity, born of desperation, made each dollar do the work of three. At last, it came to the point one morning when Rose and Margie left the house actually hungry. Helen, listlessly clearing up after the meal, was an even worse shape, for she, when

the girls had not noticed, had given them part of her food also, knowing that they, more than she, must be sustained for the day's discouraging round. She herself had tried to work at her sketches, but was too ridden by fear and worry to accomplish anything worthwhile. Joe Morris called occasionally, but the girls were too taken up with their own problems to welcome him very cordially. Then, too, Helen knew that the family budget did not include entertaining. She could not afford to ask Joe Morris to dinner just then, and she was not willing to accept hospitality from him that she could not return. So, after several of his invitations had been refused, the young man gradually gave up calling. Rose missed him most, but it was not long before she had,

too became so absorbed in the fight they were making to think about anything else. On this particular morning, when the girls had gone, half-nourished and discouraged from the house, Helen got out all her old sketches and looked over them carefully. She took up one, which she had appropriately entitled, by the brook. It was a pretty little scene. Just a woodland grove with some towering trees in the foreground, in the background tangled undergrowth, with a brook purling its merry way between moss-grown banks. Pretty and realistic, too, but there were faults. Helen recognized them even while she was at a loss to tell just how they could be remedied.

There was another, just a simple vista of hillside and trees and blowing leaves. One could see the wind in the picture, almost feel the impact of it, the wildly blowing leaves, the scudding clouds across the sky, the half-failed sun. Yes, it was good, thought Helen, with a quick thrill of pride in her work. She had done something there, portrayed action by means of color, painted her thought upon the blank canvas. With a sigh, half of hope, half of fear, she put it down and picked up another. Not so good, this one. She had loved doing it, but it had never quite suited her. An old man sat upon a rustic bridge, fishing idly in the heat of noonday.

one knew it was hot by the intense stillness of the picture. But the old man did not care. He was too engrossed in his favorite sport to think of the heat. Beside him was an old basket, containing several limp witnesses to his skill. Well done enough that part. But the sky, there was the trouble. The sky had never been quite right.

Darken it a trifle? No, that would spoil it. What if she did not, after all, possessed that talent that her mother, her relatives and friends, had credited her with. Suppose she was just one of those millions of poor girls deluded by the belief of future greatness, thinking they were possessed of a gift which had never been theirs. She put away the sketches drearily. It had been in her mind to take the best of the collection,

find out the names and addresses of two or three art dealers from the telephone directory, and try to sell them some of her work. But it is no use, she concluded. They aren't good enough. And besides, she gave an apprehensive look at the clock. It's almost time to get lunch. Either Margie or Rose was almost sure to drop in around noon for a bite to eat in some encouragement

before they began the dreary afternoon round. Encouragement, thought Helen wistfully. She had not much of that to offer them, and still less of refreshment. She was examining, with clouded brow, The pitifully empty pantry, when the door opened and slammed, and Rose came down the long hall into the kitchen. She flung off her hat and sat down in a chair, drooping wearily. It's no use, Nell, she said.

Nobody wants me. I think I've tried about every place there is that amounts to anything, and I'm just sick and tired of living. I never thought it would be like this. I wonder what luck Margie has had. poor Margie. She could have answered her sister's question emphatically several times that day. What kind of luck had she had? No luck at all.

The worst kind of luck. The... But this is how it happened. Like Rose, Margie had started out hopefully enough that morning. As usual, she had scanned the list of help wanted and had selected from it the advertisements that seemed most promising. First on the list was the name of Mr. Rosenbaum. efficiency expert. This gentleman seemed badly in need of a stenographer and something

invincibly optimistic in Margie assured her that she was just the person for the place. Her optimism received its first shock, however, when she found herself in a bare cubbyhole of an outer office in company with several other applicants for the position. There were girls of all types and classes, but whether brunettes or blondes, whether shabbily dressed or garishly dressed, There was an expression common to them all, an expression of expectancy and strain. Every time the door of Mr. Rosenbaum's inner office opened, there was an eager turning of heads, a pathetic preening of feathers, as the next in line was admitted to the presence. So the line moved slowly up until Margie found herself next to the door.

Mr. Rosenbaum must be very particular, she reflected. It seemed to her that some one of the girl, who had been admitted to the private office only to come out of it, weary and crestfallen, must have ability enough to fill the position of stenographer to Mr. Rosenbaum, efficiency expert. Perhaps her heart began to beat wildly at the thought. She was to be the chosen one.

If only she could go home to her sisters and tell them that the awful anxiety of the last few days was at an end, that she had secured a position, would on the morrow actually start making money if only a drawling slightly nasal voice at her elbow broke rudely into the dream. From the country, ain't you? asked the voice, and Margie turned sharply to find the owner of it, a pert, black-eyed, gum-chewing young person. I'm from Long Island, which isn't exactly the back woods, Margie returned rather coldly. The girl grinned good-naturedly. Just as bad, she said.

I want to buy yourself some new clothes, girlie. Now, if you'd let me tell you what to get, Margie turned from her. her face flaming, just as the door of the office opened, and a languid office boy appeared. He surveyed the remaining applicants with an indolent eye. Margie stepped forward eagerly. I'm next, she began, but was waved back by a preemptory gesture of a lean and freckled hand. Jobs filled, said the youth succinctly. You're wasting you time here. Half blinded by chagrin and disappointment, Margie found her way from the office and from the building. The pert black-eyed girl had followed closely after her, evidently with the intention of imparting more advice upon the subject of the kind of clothes she thought Margie should wear.

She was lost in front of the elevators, however, and with a sigh of relief, Margie found herself at last upon the street and alone. She felt wilted and very tired, but with a strenuous effort managed to banish the thought of fatigue from her mind. The day was just begun, and there were still so many. places to go. She consulted the next address on her list and started out again. Another disappointment, and another, and another. Resolutely, Margie continued the weary round while her feet began to feel like balls of fire. It was not until a creeping faintness warned her that she must rest, for a short time anyway, that she turned into a little restaurant with white top tables and a great clatter of dishes. The waitress brought her up.

plate of rolls and a cup of hot tea. The refreshment, meager as it was, brought fresh courage, and Margie sallied forth again to meet the ordeal of the afternoon. She suffered rebuff after rebuff until the dreary round became almost automatic, one address after the other, one tall, gaunt office building after another, all exactly alike. At last, there was only one address left, and Margie forced herself toward it. All her self-confidence had deserted her. Her shoes were dusty. She had passed a boot black and debated with herself

whether she should spend a precious dime for a shine, had decided against the extravagance. She had caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror as she had glanced into a shop in passing and had been startled and shocked by her reflection. That was never Margie Blythe, that drawn haggard white-faced girl? then on again to the last address in the list it was the least promising of them all a clerkship in a lawyer's office margie felt sure she would not get the place but one could not afford to overlook a chance

the office building when she came to it was an imposing newly erected very modern affair and margie after putting one timid dust-stained foot over the grandeur of its threshold felt a wild desire to fly from the spot forever Instead, she went stubbornly on to find herself in a large foyer with a winding stairway leading into the upper regions and a double set of elevators on either side of the stairway. Choosing the stairs as a less conspicuous means of ascent than the elevator, Margie mounted to the second floor and found herself hopelessly confused by an intricate network of corridors with doors opening into them. She was forced at last to consult a pompous, dignitary, who patiently explained that she had misread the directions to the office of Vale and Vale, who were really located on the 16th floor. The best thing to do, he told her,

with marked condescension, for her ignorance, was to descend again to the main floor and from there take an express elevator to the 16th floor. Margie thanked him and made her weary way down to the first floor again. She found the express elevator at last and whirled up to the 16th floor with a speed that made her dizzy. Then again, she began the puzzling hunt through the network of corridors for the right office. There it was at last, veil and veil, attorneys. Margie leaned against the wall for a moment to steady the trembling of her lips. Then, summoning her last drop of courage, the girl reached for the door, pushed it open, Hey there, shut that door. Isn't there draft enough without? The sharp complaining voice paused.

as the owner of it surveyed Margie critically. He was a funny, dried-up little man, with bright black eyes, a hooked nose much too big for his face, and a wide, thin-lipped mouth. Well, who are you? Didn't you hear me say to close the door? Margie closed the door quickly and stood with her back against it trembling. I saw your advertisement in the paper, she began in a weak voice.

I have come to apply for the position if it's not already filled. jobs filled snapped the unpleasant little man turning his back squarely upon her shut the door quickly after you i have a dreadful cold out in the corridor again margie wondered whether she ought to laugh or cry the whole thing would have been ludicrous had it not been so nearly tragic what to do now where to go home confessed that she had failed again not yet not while there was one forlorn little hope left. For that morning, scanning the health-wanted column, she had come across a two-line advertisement. A lady by the name of Miss Pepper needed a social secretary. Margie had noted this address with the others, but had not seriously considered investigating it. Social secretary? The idea of Margie Blythe in that capacity brought a grim little smile to her lips. Then she straightened with a swift resolution. I won't be a quitter, she told. told herself, I will go and see this pepper person if it's the last thing on earth I do.

Helen was getting an all-too- inadequate dinner, and Rose was helping her listlessly when they heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. The hall door opened and slammed shut. Even Rose, discouraged as she was, straightened up eagerly at the sound. It was not a defeated sound. Somehow, it had a note of triumph in it. Margie's voice came to them, before Margie herself appeared. It's all right, girls. Everything's all right. I've got it.

End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6. The Blythe Girls, Helen Margie and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6. God, what? Got what?

cried Helen and Rose, as they literally fell upon Margieux. Margie and dragged her into the kitchen, bombarding her with questions. Got a position, you sillies, Margie retorted, halfway between laughter and tears. What did you suppose I meant, the plague or something? You will have something worse than the plague if you don't tell us about it in a hurry, threatened Rose wildly. Are you going to tell us what sort of job you got or have I got to drag it out of you?

Stop shaking me, you bad little thing, cried Margie, pushing the girl into a chair and taking Helen's hand in both of hers. I've got a position with the cutest, crankiest, dearest, dearest, awfulest little old lady you ever saw. Now I know she's crazy, said Rose, with a helpless glance at Helen. But Margie interrupted impatiently. You are the crazy one. I never was more sane in my life.

Listen. Margie leaned forward, her dancing eyes on the two eager girls. Do you remember that ad I told you I was going to answer only is a last resort. The one for the Social Secretary? Asked Helen a little breathlessly. Margie nodded. I didn't think that sort of thing was exactly

in my line and I don't know that it is yet, she continued. But I told myself I couldn't afford to overlook anything. So I went up to Miss Pepper's address on Riverside Drive. Yes? They breathed impatiently. A butler let me in.

Oh, dear's the stunningest butler you ever saw. right out of a storybook. He even dropped his ages. Just fancy, a butler, murmured Rose in awe. She won't be speaking to us next. He took me right upstairs and announced me, Margie continued, her mirth brimming again. You've no idea how little and shabby I felt. I thought of my poor old year-before-lasts blue suit, made over and died, and I wanted to sink right through the floor. I'm sure I should have. marveled Rose, and Margie rushed on intent upon her narrative. The sharpest kind of a voice in the room beyond said,

Show the young lady in, Oliver. Imagine that great big fat thing with the three chins being called Oliver. Like the trick bear named Hazel, murmured Rose, and Margie turned laughing eyes upon her. Exactly, only more foolish, she agreed. You would have to see Oliver to appreciate the joke. Anyway, he let me in, and then I, I did feel as though I would sink through the floor.

You interest me strangely, proclaimed the irrepressible Rose. This Miss Pepper must be a man-eater. Rose, such slang, murmured Helen, but Margie took no heed of either of them. She isn't a bit terrifying, really, just a little old lady with gray hair drawn back in a fierce sort of knot at the back of her head, and with horn-rimmed spectacles that made her look like an owl. What a lovely picture, murmured Rose, and Margie grinned. at her. It has to be seen to be appreciated, she said. Helen urged her on impatiently.

But what did she say to you? She insisted. Margie chuckled. Nothing at first only looked, and I thought that one look was going to put me out on the street and farther from a job than ever. I never have been looked at so disapprovingly before. If I had been some stray cat that had wandered in when Oliver left the door open, she couldn't have looked more disgusted. Horrid old thing! exclaimed Rose indignantly. What right has she? No, I won't have you abusing her. Margie interrupted with a chuckle. She is the dearest old thing ever and really quite agreeable. Once she found out I wasn't a book agent, she thought I was at first, you know.

And Margie began to laugh at the recollection. She said after staring at me suspiciously for fully five minutes, Well, what is it this time? Bolshevistic Russia or home rule in Ireland. Imagine, cried Rose delightedly. Didn't you think she was mad? Margie nodded. For fully five minutes, I was sure of it, she said.

My one idea was to escape to the safety of the street. Then I understood that she took me for a book agent and became myself once more. Did she ask you if you had any experience? Put in the quiet Helen. The very first thing, admitted Margie. with a pained expression. The very sound of that question made me so sick I thought I was going to faint.

I shouldn't wonder if she thought so too, for she called to Oliver to push forward a chair. I happened to look at his face while he was doing it, and he looked so funny I thought I should scream. Imagine Oliver of the three chins, setting a chair for a poor nobody like me with her year before last suit on her back and the dust of the street on her shoes.

He didn't like it, I can tell you. Pity about him! exclaimed Rose indignantly. I'd like to tell that dancing bear what I think of him. You never would, chuckled Margie. One look at him and you would be scared to death. Rose snorted her scorn at this prophecy, and Helen urged Margie on, impatient for the rest of the story. But what made her take you when you hadn't any experience?

Don't ask me. She was sorry for me, I guess. Margie responded ruefully. Anyway, after she had asked me a peck of questions and found out just how ignorant I was, she snapped as though she was awfully mad about something. All right, you'll do. Report for duty, bagged baggage, eight o'clock, tomorrow morning. That's one of the funny things about her.

She keeps leaving out words all the time, as though she were writing a telegram and every extra word cost money. Eight o'clock, gasped Rose. But how much are you going to get? asked Helen, not so much interested in the eccentricities of Miss Pepper as she was in the details of this good fortune that had come to them. Did she tell you? She did, and I almost fell over dead, replied Margie. Listen my children and you shall hear. This darling old lady, this fairy godmother in surprise, is going to pay me $30 a week. To start, mind you, to start. And for the finish, the sky's the limit, murmured Rose fervently. Catch me somebody, I'm going to faint. It's all wonderful, said Helen, and her voice shook a little in the blessed relief from gnawing anxiety and fear. It seems too good to be true.

Well, it is true. Every bit of it, said Margie briskly. And just to prove it, look here. She opened a package, which she had deposited unnoticed on the kitchen table, and displayed to the famish gaze of the girls, a capon cleaned and cut up and ready for stewing, fresh green peas, shelled, an attractive-looking in their wooden container, and a box of strawberries. The girls crowed with delight as they devoured this tempting array with their eyes, and Helen wasted no time in preparing the chicken. Rose said about stemming the strawberries, but ate so many in the process

that Margie, laughing, transferred her to the potato peeling. or, as she explained, they are not so tempting raw. Your Miss Pepper must have given you a whole year's salary in advance, if you can throw money about so recklessly, Rose remarked, as she contentedly chewed the last strawberry she had filched from the box. She gave me a week's advance, Margie admitted, and when I stepped out of the house with all that money in my pocket, what do you suppose was the first thing I thought of?

Food, guessed Rose, and Helen laughed a little sadly. How hard it would have been for us a year ago, she said, to look forward to a time when we should know actual hunger. Anyway, she added cheerfully, we appreciate a meal all the more when we do get one. After dinner, the girls became rather sober and thoughtful. It had occurred to neither Helen nor rose up to that time

that Margie's connection with Miss Pepper would mean the first break in their course. close trio. I suppose your new employer will expect you to live with her, question Helen, putting her thought into words. A social secretary does, doesn't she? Margie nodded, and there was a mistiness in her dark eyes. That was one reason I didn't want to answer the ad, she owned.

It will be horribly lonesome in that big house, without any one of my own. You will have Oliver, suggested Rose, deceiving no. by her flippancy. Margie chuckled and surreptitiously wiped her eyes. Yes, I shall have Oliver, she agreed. And now, she added, rising hastily and starting toward the bedroom. I guess I'd better start packing. It won't take long, she added ruefully, thinking of her pitifully scanty wardrobe. The packing was done, the lights were out, and the two girls lay side by side in the big old-fashioned bed that had belonged to their mother. The noises of the street came to them faintly. The heat oppressed them

so that they could hardly breathe, and suddenly they were frightened, appalled by the power and ruthlessness of the most fascinating and most terrifying city in the world. For a long time, they lay quietly, staring into the dark. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7. The Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose by Laura Lee Hope. This Liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7. An unexpected luxury. The night brought showers and relief from the intense heat. In the morning, the girls were in better spirits than they had been the night before,

and even the prospect of temporary separation from Margie seemed not nearly so tragic in the broad light of day. Margie rose early, filled with the importance of her new position and determined to be on time for this first morning, at least, the eccentric Miss Pepper had said, 8 o'clock and 8 o'clock it would be. Helen fairly forced her to eat a good breakfast of bacon and eggs and coffee, for excitement had robbed the girl of her ordinarily healthy appetite. I'll leave you $20 of what Miss Pepper gave me yesterday, Helen, she said to the older girl, gulping down her coffee, and I will try to save enough out of my salary to pay the rent. And in the next week or two, Rose is almost sure to get some sort of position,

even if it only pays a small salary. And I think I may be able to sell some of my sketches, if I touch them up a bit, responded Helen cheerfully. I hate to take so much of your money, Margie, when you need new clothes so badly. For a moment, Margie's face clouded, but she banished the expression immediately and gave Helen her gayest smile. I won't need much, she fibbed bravely, and I would be pretty ungrateful if I weren't thankful that I'm able to help out any way I can now.

At that moment came a shout from the youngest, and Rose charged in upon them, her eyes bright with excitement. Who do you suppose just stop before our door? What? They asked in unison. A limousine, a perfect peach! Rose was fairly beside herself with excitement. I bet it's for you, Marge.

My goodness, just think of the style of us. Oh, it can't be for me, Margie protested, half frightened at the suggestion of such magnificence. Miss Pepper said nothing about sending for me, but at that moment, the buzzer in the kitchen rang with peculiar urgency and Rose ran to answer it. Margie went excitedly to open the front door and saw ascending the steps toward their apartment.

two men. The first she recognized as Miss Peppers Butler, that haughty possessor of the three chins. The second was a man in a chauffeur's livery. There could no longer be any possibility that it was a mistake. These men had come for her, and her luggage, to bear her like a princess in the fairy tale to the prince's ball. That the princess ball in this instance resolved itself into the unromantic position of social secretary to a crabbed and exacting old woman, did not in any way detract from Margie's delight in the experience. The trunk had been borne downstairs by the grunting and disgruntled Oliver, whose dignity had been sorely impaired by this menial task, and the man in the chauffeur's livery.

Margie stopped behind for a moment to embrace her sisters tearfully and whispered that she would see them again just as soon as she was at liberty. Then she hurried down the stairs, obsessed by the fear of being late, and thus offending her exacting new employers, her. Helen's last admonitions and Rose's excited comments and congratulations floated after her as she walked with a sense of unreality down the remaining flight of stairs. She ran across the flooded sidewalk, not bothering to open her umbrella, and, still with that sense of unreality, entered the limousine whose door the chauffeur held

open for her. She gave the latter a swift glance and saw that he was a presentable young fellow, a few years older than herself, with sandy hair, blue eyes, and a flashing smile. There was unfained, though respectful, admiration in his eyes as they rested upon her, and Margie wondered if she really was as pretty as he seemed to think her. It was characteristic of Margie that she had never thought much about her personal attractiveness. Rose's beauty had always been her ideal of loveliness, and she knew that she was not at all like Rose. What she did not know was that that, although of an utterly different type from her younger sister, she was in her own way very attractive and pretty. Where Rose's skin was soft and creamy, hers was of an olive tint,

but the rich color that came and went beneath it, the dusky softness of her eyes, and the masses of lustrous dark hair, made a picture that many a passerby turned to look at twice. On this particular morning she was even prettier than usual, for her color was high and her eyes sparkled with the excitement of her first adventure. She had become a wage earner. She was on the road to independence. The thought in itself was inspiring, and then this wonderful car in which she traveled as though accustomed to such luxurious means of travel. Rufely, she looked down at her shabby suit. Somehow, it did not seem to fit into the picture. Helen had been right. She needed new clothes dreadfully. Oh, well, later perhaps. They had reached Riverside Drive, were drawing up before

the imposing residence whose awesome interior she had timidly invaded the previous afternoon. Seen from this new vantage point, it seemed not nearly so terrifying. The chauffeur opened the door and Margie stepped out upon the pavement. Her heart was beating rather wildly and she had an absurd impulse to dodge around the corner and seek the security of home and Helen's presence again. She was suddenly and terribly afraid of the erratic Miss Pepper. Then she was in the presence of no less than a personage than the lady herself. The latter regarded her with that same frowning, suspicious stare with which she had favored her upon their first meeting, and once more Margie felt as though she would like to sink through the floor, shabby blue suit and

all. Miss Pepper jerked a silken cord at her elbow, and the next moment a becapped and apron maid appeared. She glanced at her mistress inquiringly, then looked at Margie's standing as though rooted in the middle of the floor. Show Miss Blice her room, Jane! Blue room, she muttered, and without another glance in Margie's direction, turned back to the litter of papers on the table before her. The disapproving maid favored Margie with another insolent glance. glance, turned and stalked out of the room. Margie followed, supposing that that was the proper thing to do, but her blood was beginning to boil. Never of a very gentle temper, the insolent manner of this

girl fanned her anger to ablaze. Perhaps it was the best thing that could have happened to her under the circumstances, for in the heat of her anger she forgot to be self-conscious or ill at ease. Having ascended the stairs, the maid languidly flung open a door at the far end of the softly carpeted hall. Here's your room, Miss, she said with a barely perceptible pause before the miss. I'll unpack your things if you like. Oh, no, I'll attend to my own things, Margie told her coldly. You may go now. She hoped that was the right way to speak to a maid.

Up to that time, she had had very little practice. Margie was relieved to see that the insolent maid was impressed by her manner. She withdrew, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Margie to look about at the new, altogether unexpected luxury of her new quarters. The decorations and draperies of the room were in blue, and Margie had always loved blue. The furniture was an ivory white, and there was a blue-shaded lamp upon one shelf of the long mirrored dressing table. There was a door at the farther end of the room, and after she had taken off her coat and hat and carefully put them away in the closet, she went over and tried the handle of this door.

It turned easily. The door swung open and revealed a tiled bathroom, complete to the closeted shower in one corner of it. I think I will pinch myself just to see if this is really me, said Margie, forgetting grammar and everything else in the surprise and pleasure of the moment. Imagine Margie Blythe, out of a job yesterday, and owning a bathroom like this, all to herself, the next. Good gracious, I wish the girls could see it. Wait till I tell Rose, won't her eyes stick out. After a few moments more of reveling in the cozy luxury of her new surroundings, Margie set herself hastily to the task of unpacking her few belongings. She feared the sharp eyes and sarcastic tongue of Miss Pepper's maid more than she cared to admit, and was not anxious that the latter should inspect her modest wardrobe while she was on duty. As Miss Pepper had deigned to give her no orders,

she had not the slightest idea when her duties would begin. When her unpacking was done and still no word had come from below stairs, Margie sat down in the luxuriously padded and upholstered window seat to await development. developments. The view from the window was superb, commanding as it did, a view of the drive and the river beyond it, but one could not remain satisfied with even so lovely a picture for an unlimited time, especially when one was as nervous and as on edge as Margie Blythe was at that moment. She asked herself why she should be nervous, but she did not have long to search for the answer. She was desperately afraid that she might not be able to please, Miss Pepper.

and she was realizing for the first time how very anxious she was to succeed in this her first position. At this moment, the obnoxious maid, without knocking, poked her head in the doorway to say indifferently, Miss Pepper would like to see you right away in the library. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 The Blythe Girls, Helen Margie and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This Livrevox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8. Magic.

Meanwhile, there were Helen and Rose, still gazing at the dreary prospect outside the windows of the dingy little apartment, far up into the two hundreds, and wondering just what they were going to do now that Margie was gone. It's a good deal worse for us than it is for her, Rose remarked moodily. She will have all the excitement and fun of a new place, and making money while we ought to be very thankful for Margie's good fortune. Helen finished gently. If this Miss Pepper hadn't happened to want a social secretary and chosen Margie,

To be it, Rose put in, to be it, laughed Helen. Things might be a good deal gloomier than they are today, now I'll tell you. Sure, we got a good meal out of Miss Pepper anyway, giggled Rose, adding impishly. I wonder if that lady is as full of pep as her name. If she is, I'd like to meet her, and I don't envy Margie her job. I wish you wouldn't use that word job so often, said Helen, as she turned from the window and began to tidy the living room. It sounds so common somehow.

A rose by any other name would smell a sweet, or words to that effect, retorted Rose, as she picked up her hat and pulled it down over her bright hair. I'd like to land one, call it what you may. How do I look, Nell? She turned to pose impishly before her sister. Do I look like the glittering business success that I feel like, or the terrifically failure I feel more like?

Come on now, don't spare my feelings, tell the truth at all costs. Helen drew her sister to her and kissed her gently. You look just like your name to me, dear, she said, adding anxiously, as she glanced at the steady downpour of rain outside the, the window. Must you go out today? After such a rain, tomorrow will most surely be fair. But Rose shook her head firmly. Her pretty mouth was compressed into a straight line of determination. I am going to get a job, excuse me, position in the Lossar Martin store today. If it's the last act I perform on this earth. It's just about my last chance and I can't afford to lose it.

"'Wish me luck, Nell. I shall come home flaming with victory.' Then she was off, leaving Helen to stare at the closed door and listen to her retreating footsteps as she sped down the stairs. The eyes of her older sister were wet as she set herself listlessly to the dull routine of housework. "'It isn't right for me to stay here doing nothing while they, and the two younger ones at that, go out and make money,' she told herself rebelliously, as she finished the dusting and knew that her work was practically done for the day. I could do something. I know I could. Even if I have to give up my art for the time.

This last suggestion ended with a sob, and almost defensively she brought forth her sketches and examined them critically. I could do some new ones, I suppose, she thought. That might be better than trying to touch up the old ones. I ought to be able to find some good subjects in the parks, if ever I get time to go there. She turned again to the old sketches. They are really not so bad after all, she reflected. With a little touching up, they might be good enough to attract a buyer.

At the thought, her eyes grew suddenly bright again. If she could find a market for her sketches, even though she were paid very little for them, she would be able to go on with her art studies, pay for them with her own money. Two feverish spots of color began to burn on her cheeks as she got out her watercolors and prepared her easel for work. She was so happily absorbed that lunchtime came and passed without her knowledge. Not until the early twilight of a stormy day cast lengthening shadows into the living room did she pause to wonder at the swift passing of time.

Rose has been away for a dreadfully long time, she told herself, reluctantly putting away her work. I wonder where the child is. Nothing could have happened. But something had happened, something that was like an adventure in the Arabian nights to Rose herself. The more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed, and yet it had actually happened.

After leaving Helen with her gallant prophecy of victory that morning, she had gone straight to the Losar Martin Department Store. She had avoided that emporium heretofore for the reason that the extreme elegance of its reputation had daunted her. She had gone past it many times, gazing longingly at its gorgeous and luxurious window display, had once almost entered within its magical portals.

At the last moments, she had fled, and ever since had been busily calling herself names because of that cowardice. there was something about the very magnificence of the place that overawed her, made her conscious of her last year's dress and hat, and the patch on the sole of her shoe. But today it was different. Perhaps it was Margie's example of fearlessness in facing the redoubtable Miss Pepper. Perhaps it was the fact that this seemed to be about her last chance of placing herself with one of the larger department stores.

At any rate, be the reason what it may, Rose decided to take her fate. in her hands. She looked neither to the right nor to the left in the damp and stifling subway, for fear she might see something or hear something that would cause her to change her mind. Once arrived at 42nd Street, she rushed toward the outer air, passing many of her slower and less resolute sisters. Several people looked at her and turned again to stare, wondering what the very pretty girl was in such a tremendous hurry about. Rose gasped as she entered the magnificent portals of the Lossar Martin department store, much as an inexpert swimmer takes a long breath before diving into deep in unknown waters. But she never once wavered or turned back.

Today it was due or die. Her heart was beating violently when, after meeting with determined opposition by various clerks in the outer office, she finally found herself in the presence of the manager himself. She had been given references by the minister of her church at home, and by the president of the rather small and insignificant bank of Riverdale. The latter had been a friend of her father's, and would gladly have done much more than that for the daughters of John Blythe. Rose clutched those two references with all the zeal of a drowning man, who sees his one available log about to pass him by. Mr. Paul Carruthers, bald, bespectical and 40, continued to inspect the paper he held in his hand with frowning determination.

Rose coughed gently, and he looked up, annoyed. Well, what do you want? He snapped. Who sent you here? I did, Rose said promptly. As to what I want, I'd like $15 a week and a chance to earn it. The face and neck of Paul Seeker others became purple. His eyes bulged. He's half rose from his seat, then seated himself again, weekly. He's enraged, thought Rose. In another moment he'll call all those smirking clerks in the outer office and have me put out. Oh, well, let him do it. I expected it. Mr. Carruthers became still more purple in hue, coughed, stuttered, and chuckled. Well, if you are not a conceited young person,

he exclaimed, and to the girls' incredulous ears, he seemed amused. What makes you think you're worth $15 a week? I know I'm worth much more than that, replied Rose, a smile breaking at the corners of her very pretty mouth, but I'd be willing to start at 15. This becomes more interesting by the moment, Mr. Carruthers assured her. Here, take this chair, he added, pushing one toward her.

I am eager to hear just why you think so well of yourself. I don't think so well of myself, really. answered Rose, becoming suddenly serious and looking at him squarely. All I want to prove is that I am worth paying real money to do a real job. Any experience? asked Mr. Paul Carruthers, suddenly hurried and businesslike again. Now, that question was like a red flag to a bull. Rose flamed at the great man as though he had offered her a deadly insult. No, I haven't had any experience, but I know that I can sell goods as well as anyone else

if I only have a chance, she cried. But you won't believe that, and you won't give me the chance, because I haven't had the experience. Experience. How does anyone get it, anyhow? I'm sorry I bothered you. Good morning. Hey, hold on there.

What's the idea of going up in the air like that? I didn't say I wouldn't give you a chance, did I? Come back here, you little spitfire, and sit down in that chair and behave yourself. Rose hesitated. She was not accustomed to being talked to in that way, and she was not a bit sure she liked it. But there was a humorous quality in the man's voice that made her do as he said. She came back slowly and sat down, her face flaming, her lips a little tremulous.

Paul C. Carruthers, sat back in his swivel chair and studied her, fingertips together. You have pep and personality, he told her at last. two attributes that come in handy in just about every business, but most of all, I think, in the business of selling goods behind a counter. Now, I am going to give you a chance to sell goods, he said, leaning forward and looking at her sharply, if you make good, the sky's the limit, but it will be hard work. I'm going to start you in the millinery trimmings department.

Oh, said Rose faintly, thank you. Just then. That was all she could say. End of chapter 8. Chapter 9. The Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. By Laura Lee Hope. This Livervox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 9. New acquaintances. Rose could have hugged the bald but genial Mr. Paul C. Carruthers with a good will, but knowing that such a procedure was neither problem. nor in good taste, she controlled the impulse. As for the great man himself, having given orders to a black-haired, haughty young woman concerning Rose, he seemed suddenly to have lost all interest in the girl, turning back with frowning concentration to the reading of the letter which Rose's entrance had interrupted. Rose looked sideways at the haughty young person as they stepped into the elevator together, and the latter condescended to grin good-naturedly.

in right, Goyley, she informed the half-elated and half-frightened Rose. Took me three years to get to the artificial posies, and here you are stepping right into the place the first thing. Paul C. must have thought you belonged with the flowers or something. Say, Goyle, is your middle name, Rose? No, but my first one is, replied Rose, with a chuckle, and the haughty one's black eyes opened in a stare of disbelief. Come on, now you're kidding, she remarked, but the stopping of the elevator at the third floor put an end to conversation and precipitated them both into a swaying mob of bargain seekers.

Say, ain't this a limit? said Rose's guide over her shoulder as she deftly elbowed away through the crowd to the millinery counter. They've got some of a fancy stuff like feathers and velvet posies mocked down to about half price. Note the riot. By this time Rose was thoroughly enjoying herself. She liked this slangy and ungrammatical but good-names natured new acquaintance immensely. The thrill of having landed a job had whipped her cheeks to a deep pink and filled her eyes with sparkling imps of mischief. She was so buoyant and sanguine that even those in the bargain-mad crowd felt it and turned to stare after her admiringly. Half an hour later found Rose installed in her position behind the millinery trimmings counter.

Rose's partner behind the counter was the same black-haired and haughty young person who had guided her from the office of Paul Seeker-Others to her present comparatively lowly position. Not that Rose considered it lowly. No, indeed, she was to have many greater triumphs in the days and years to come, but none that would ever seem more important or thrilling to her than this first step on the ladder of success. The name of her new acquaintance was Annabel Black, a name which seemed very fitting to Rose, for Annabelle's hair and eyes could not. have been blacker than they were, and Annabelle's eyebrows were so black and heavy that they well-nigh met above her rather large but well-formed nose. This girl was only a year or so

older than Rose herself, yet she seemed years older. In fact, was years older in experience. Nevertheless, she was very kind to Rose, and the latter wondered more than once during the next few crowded hours what she would have done without Annabel Black. You won't have much to do today, guile. Her new friend whispered to her during a moment when the milling crowd about the counter seemed to offend a little. Just keep your ears and eyes wide open and let me and Bertie do the real work. Tomorrow you can start in being a slave too. The girl Annabel had referred to as Bertie interested Rose immensely. She seemed such a quiet, demure little person, and yet was so surprisingly efficient.

More than once, Rose found herself watching the movement of those deft fingers with something like fascination. Bertie was small, with brown eyes, straight, wispy hair of a neutral tone, and a white, tired little face whose expression of quiet endurance made Rose Blythe's heart ache. Bertie was everywhere at once, with a soft word for this frantic customer, a helpful suggestion for an undecided one, never cross, never snappy, like Annabel, never insolent. But Rose noticed, she had plenty of time to notice everything during that long afternoon, since she was permitted to handle only the smallest and most insignificant of orders, that, in spite of her efficiency and good manners,

Bertie was consistently snubbed, not only by Annabel Black, but by other girls at nearby counters. None of them worked half as hard or as faithfully as she, yet they made a great show of work and patronized the girl as from some loftier plane. This attitude both puzzled and angered rose, for she had liked the quiet, mouse-like girl at first sight, and felt inclined to champion her. She became even more determined in this course after she met Mr. Herbert Schoenberg.

Mr. Herbert Schoenberg was a floor-walker, but one would have thought him, seeing him sauntering importantly among the aisles and counters of his domain, at least a king. He was a portly man and tall. He must have stood six-two in his stocking feet. He was distinguished-looking, too, and handsome after a fashion. Because of all this, Rose was at a loss that first day to explain her strong aversion to the man. He was pleasant to her, too, as he neared the counter behind which Annabella, and Bertie worked, and she looked on, his roving eye happened to light upon rose, and he seemed

to hurry his sauntering pace, shoving ruthlessly through the crowd of bargain seekers. While the already overworked Bertie took complete charge of the trimming counter, the black-eyed Annabelle proceeded languidly to introduce the new goyle. Mr. Herbert Schaumburg, while characteristically condescending, was genuinely impressed by the latter's good looks and took small pains to disguise this fact. He leaned over the counter and talked to her in a low tone as casual and unhurried as though there were no frantic crowds milling about his elbows. I hope you will like it here, Miss Blythe, he began, and went on to say that she would be expected to attend the store school one or two mornings a week in order to master the rudiments of selling, which she had not gained by experience. Rose was eager to do this, as she was eager for anything that would advance her in her chosen work, and said so with her.

enthusiasm. Mr. Schoenberg evidently approved of both the enthusiasm and the girl and ended by shaking hands with her and hoping they would be the best of friends. As he turned away, Rose felt a little ashamed of her instinctive dislike of him, for he had certainly been very kind and encouraging. But the next moment, something happened that immeasurably strengthened that dislike. It had to do with the quiet, mouse-like girl, Bertie. All this time while Annabel Black and the other girls in the vicinity had been giving one ear to their customers and the other to the conversation between Rose and the floor walker, Bertie had been conscientiously attending to her own business, and some of Annabelle's as well. As Herbert

Schoenberg turned away from Rose, smiling benignly, it happened that Bertie handed a package to the wrong customer. She perceived her mistake instantly, but before she could rectify it, the woman to whom the package really belonged, set up a hue and cry. That careless girl! she cried, glaring at the hapless Bertie, while Mr. Schoenberg stopped to see what the trouble was. If I had not had my eyes about me, I would have been out a willow plume. Bertie retrieved the package and handed it to the outraged customer. Here is your package, ma'am, she said. I noticed my mistake as soon as I made it. You never were in any danger of losing your plume.

"'The idea!' cried this unpleasant customer, rudely snatching at her plume, and favoring Bertie with a parting glare. "'You had better not be impudent, miss, or I will report you to the management.' The woman was lost in the crowd, and Rose noticed with pity that Bertie was trembling all over as she faced the annoyed frown of Mr. Herbert Schoenberg. "'That's the second time you've made a mistake in one week, Miss North,' said the latter in a tone of severe reprimand. If it happens again, I shall be forced to take a complaint to the office myself. He turned away and marched commandingly through the mob, while Bertie stared after him with

a tragic white face. Well, ain't he the mean thing? exclaimed Annabelle Black, as she put up a hand to rearrange her elaborate coiffure. Always looking for trouble he is. Just the same, Boidy, she added, with her patronizing air, you better ought to be more careful, you know. Think before you act as my motto in life. It was late, and the bargain rush had thinned to a small drivel of customers before Rose had a chance to speak to the overworked birdie.

Then she waited until Annabelle was engaged with an exacting customer before she dared make any overture. I wonder if you can't catch your breath long enough to answer a question, she said in an undertone. The other girl looked at her in surprise. Then she smiled slowly, and Rose was amazed at the difference that smile made. I reckon I could, she admitted. If it was very important, then why? demanded Rose with a vehement sweep of her hand about the place.

Do you stand for the way people treat you here? The girl looked at her curiously for a moment, then smiled bitterly. If you had an invalid mother who depended on your little bit of pay, maybe you'd stand things too, she answered wearily. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10. The Blythe Girls. Helen, Margie, and Rose.

By Laura Lee Hope. This Liver Vox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 10. A Real Celebration. Rose wanted to ask Bertie more questions, but at that moment, Annabel, the Flummel buoyant bore down upon them, demanding to know what the two were jabberin about. You can go now, Posey, she told Rose, and by this variation of her name, Rose was to be known by the whole department.

You don't have to stay till closing time today, but see that you're on the job bright and early tomorrow morning, a.m. We're going to have another sale like the one we had today, and believe me, if we're not all dead before night, it will be luck and nothing else. Run along with you now. Me and Bertie's got to get back to business. Rose started to say something, thought better of it, and closed her lips tightly. The last she saw of the two as she left the counter on her way to the employee's elevator was a picture perfectly characteristic of them both. Annabel was surreptitiously powdering her nose with the aid of a small hand mirror, while Bertie North attended to two customers at once,

keeping the peace between them only by the greatest tact and patience. As Rose rode downstairs and stepped from the great emporium of Lossar Martin, she was a prey to conflicting emotions. She was indignant with all her new acquaintances for the way they treated poor little birdie north. She was aflame with a righteous desire to set things right at once. Then, too, she was tremendously thrilled at her success, and a little frightened as well. Mr. Paul C. Carruthers had started her at $15 a week with the prospect of an increase if she proved as efficient as he hoped she would. It was not a great deal of money, but it seemed like a small fortune to the eager and enthusiastic girl.

Also, the promise of advancement was thrilling, like a bright light beckoning her on to the goal of her ambitions. She felt also a little proud of her courage and determination. If it had not been for her pluck in bearding Paul C. Carruthers in his private lair, she never would have had the chance. Her fear arose from the fact that she was not as confident as she had seemed of her abilities to make a good saleswoman. Also, and this she found hard to admit even to herself, she was a little afraid of Herbert Schoenberg, the floor-walker. His manner to her seemed a little too silky when she compared it with his tone in addressing poor little birdie. North. Rose possessed the gift of being able to estimate pretty fairly a person at sight, and she had very seldom known a first impression of that sort to fail her. So now she believed

that Herbert Schoenberg would be good to her and helpful in every way as long as she pleased him and did exactly as he said. Though I never have yet come to anybody's whistle and I don't think I am likely to begin now, she told herself defiantly. But, thought of the floor walker was unpleasant to her, and she strove as far as possible to put him from her mind. She had so far succeeded that by the time she reached the subway station, she was smiling contentedly in happy anticipation of the moment when she should charge in upon Helen with the glorious news. She was about to disappear down the yawning well of the subway, when a hail in a familiar voice stopped her, and she turned around surprised. A big moving van had

stopped close to the curb, and from it a young man jumped nimbly. Rose recognized him at once. He was Joe Morris, the young man who had helped them in their moving, and who had been so nice to them later. Rose felt a twinge of compunction, as she remembered that they had repeatedly refused his invitations, had felt too poor at that time, even to invite him to dinner with them. But if Joe Morris had any idea he had been ill-treated, he certainly did not show it at that moment. He smiled delightedly upon Rose, showing his nice teeth, and she smiled back at him. He was much better looking than she had remembered him. Well, if this isn't the luck, he cried, as he held out to her one of his great brown hands.

All the time, I've been looking around trying to catch a sight of you, and I couldn't. Now that I'm just about giving up hope, here you are. I don't see why you had to look for me, said Rose, with the frankness of the present generation, while she shook the offered hand. You certainly knew where I lived. Joe grinned and Rose caught herself wishing he would do it again. It made his face look so nice and jolly. I got an idea I was about as popular as the smallpox around your house, he confided.

I don't know yet what I did to offend you, but even I can take a hint once in a while without waiting for the kick that goes with it. Rose felt herself flushing with embarrassment. She could not very well tell this young fellow, nice and amiable as he undoubtedly was, the true state of affairs. So she evaded the question as gracefully as possible. We were awfully busy just then, she confided. Getting to rights and everything, you know.

Just as if I didn't take one whole half day to help get you to rights, young Morris reminded her reproachfully. There's gratitude for you. They both laughed at that, and Rose looked at him, her head cocked on one side. You don't look like a person, who holds a grudge, she told him, adding primly, we dine at 6.30, my sister and I will be glad to have you join us tomorrow evening at our humble meal. She made him a mocking little bow and was off down the stairs before the bewildered and

delighted Joe could detain her or even frame an answer to her sudden invitation. Meanwhile, Rose was asking herself what had possessed her to invite Joe Morris to dinner without even consulting Helen? I'll tell her my good news first, she did. decided diplomatically, then maybe she won't mind if I tell her about Joe. Anyway, she added defiantly, he is an awfully nice boy, and I like him. Helen had just put away her sketches and was starting toward the kitchen to get dinner when the door opened, and Rose flung herself upon her. Well, darling, the most gorgeous thing has happened, she cried, dragging Helen down onto the

couch beside her, regardless of wet clothing. You have a position! "'Divined Helen, anticipating the glorious news. "'How did you know?' giggled Rose. "'You must have become a mind-reader all of a sudden.' "'Only one thing could make you look like that,' Helen explained. "'Do tell me all about it, dear. You know just how anxious I am.' Without further delay, Rose launched into a recital of the day's events,

and Helen proved a most satisfying audience. Only once or twice did she interrupt, and her enthusiasm was unfeigned. They rejoiced together as Rose recounted her experiences, and were so absorbed that they forgot all about dinner and were only reminded of the need for nourishment by the pangs of imminent starvation. At least so Rose declared. Gayly they got the meal together, and when, at the close of it, Rose mentioned her invitation to Joe Morris for the following evening. Helen completely surprised her younger sister by seeming pleased that she had invited him. this house would be dull without a little company sometimes, she said, adding fondly as she looked at the pretty rose, and I want more than anything else for you to be contented and happy, dear.

Something caught in the younger girl's throat, and it seemed suddenly to her, as she blinked through tears at her sister, that it was not Helen sitting there at all, but her mother, with the old familiar smile upon her lips. She rushed around the table and flung her arms about her sister, holding her tight. You darling, old goose, she said huskily. You've got to stop thinking about other people all the time and think of yourself a little.

You are the one who needs some fun and good times. Here alone in this stuffy old place all day. I'm going to see that you have them, too. Helen laughed a little. It was funny to hear that protective tone on the lips of her younger sister, but it was very sweet, too. They made a gala occasion out of next evening's dinner. They had fried chicken and peas and a homemade cake that would have made the finest chef in Paris green with envy,

this to quote Joe Morris after his third piece. They went to a moving picture theater after dinner, the first treat of the kind the two girls had had since their arrival in the city. Joe Morris was more amusing and delightful than ever, and there was only one thing needed to make the end of a perfect day, sighed rose, when the young man had gone. and she and her sister were alone in the tiny apartment. And that one thing was Margie, agreed Helen.

If we don't hear from her sometime tomorrow, Rose, I think I shall have to take my courage in hand and brave the formidable Miss Pepper myself. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 The Blythe Girls, Helen Margie and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This Liverwax recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11

A Strange Employer If Rose had been encountering unusual and exciting experiences in her job search, Margie's life in the household of Miss Pepper had had its share of excitement and adventure. The new social secretary was in the throes of something very like stage fright as she hesitated before descending to the presence of her new employer. She knew absolutely nothing. about the duties of a social secretary, and while she had frankly told Miss Pepper this,

she did not expect that lady to make allowances for her shortcomings. Well, there's one comfort, she told herself grimly. I can die only once, anyway. And with this rather sorry comfort, she left the security of her room and slowly descended the heavily carpeted stairs toward the library. She supposed this room was the one in which, she had been received upon her arrival at the house, for there had been books, books, books, in every available nook and cranny of it. She remembered that this room was at the front of the house and that heavy green curtains hung before the doorway concealing it. She was hesitating before these same curtains a moment later when the sound of a quick step on the stairs behind her caused her

to look hastily over her shoulder. The insolent maid was descending, and at the side of the super-sillious smile upon her lips, Margie flung up her head and without another moment's hesitation entered the room. She found Miss Pepper sitting in exactly the same spot before the littered table in which Margie had left her, and she was bending over a list of names with a frown of concentration. Can't make head or tail of the whole beastly business, Margie heard her mutter as she entered. Can't say want to either. Oh, so, here you are. She whirled so quickly upon the girl that Margie started nervously. If she had been the various blackguard, Miss Pepper's greeting could not have been more severely suspicious. The new secretary found herself

wondering if there was any dreadful thing that she had done and forgotten about later, and that this fearsome old woman had found out and was holding over her as a threat. Then, Miss Pepper removed her spectacles, and Margie saw that her frown was caused more by near-sightedness than bad temper. "'Come here, child,' her queer employer ordered preemptorily. "'Think I can see you if you stand off there? "'Unreasonable, very. "'Haven't the eyesight I once had, you know. "'Youth should be more considerate of age.

"'Really should.' "'I'm sorry,' said poor Margie, "'feeling the accusing gaze of the old woman upon her "'and realizing a need for justification. "'If I did anything I shouldn't—' "'Nonsense!' interrupted this surprising person irritably. "'It's what you're. you didn't do that I am talking about. Not what you did. Come closer. I must have a good look at you.

Margie had the peculiar impression that she was living through one of the fantastic scenes in Alice in Wonderland. Certainly, this peculiar old person could not be real. People didn't talk to you like that, and order you about so in real life. Margie expected Miss Pepper to change into the Queen of Hearts at any moment and fly in her face, but Miss Pepper did nothing of the kind. Instead, she subjected Margie to a prolonged and embarrassing inspection, at the end of which she grunted noncommittally. Looks well enough, she muttered to herself, but you never can tell. Margie did not know whether to be amused or angry. She compromised by deciding that Miss Pepper must be mentally unbalanced, and so not responsible for what she did. For some time, Margie sat in her

chair by the window while the old lady went on with her business as unembarrassed by Margie's presence, apparently, as though she had been alone in the room. The girl had begun to wonder, resentfully, if she had been employed for the sole purpose of sitting with her hands folded while Miss Pepper worked, when the latter rose suddenly from her chair, almost upsetting it as she did, and turned spitefully, or so it seemed, upon her social secretary. You can find out what's wrong with him if you can. she snapped and turning walked briskly from the room for a moment margie was too astonished to move or speak she sat gaping at the door through which her employer had disappeared with a most inane expression upon her face she must be mad or i am she told herself at last she had risen from her chair resolved to flee the house forever when miss pepper returned as suddenly as she had left

"'Where are you going?' she demanded peevishly. "'Set you to work, didn't I?' "'You certainly didn't, Miss Pepper,' retorted Margie, "'becoming a trifle peevish on her own account. "'You told me to find out what was wrong with something, "'and I have not the slightest idea what you meant.' "'Margie had no sooner spoken the hasty words than she was sorry. "'She fully expected to be thrown out of the house without delay.

"'What was her surprise, then, to see the same, seemed and wrinkled face of her employer break into a pleased smile. Good, she cried. Like you all the better for Spunk. Got lots of it myself. What is it you don't understand? Oh, everything, cried Margie, throwing out her hands in a helpless gesture. You haven't told me a thing about my duties yet, Miss Pepper.

I shall be glad to get down to work if I only know what there is to do. Most reasonable. announced her employer with another pleased smile. If there is one thing more than I value above another, it is that quality of reasonableness. Yes, yes, of course. You must know what you ought to do before you can do it, surely. All this time, her hand was wandering among the litter of papers on her desk,

stirring them into still more hopeless confusion. Trouble is? She looked up suddenly and favored Margie with a confidential smile. I don't know anything more about it than you do. This was a poser. How in the world was one to guess at her duties in a new position if even her employer could not tell her what they were. She looked helplessly at Miss Pepper

and that queer person suddenly grinned companionably. It was the nearest thing she had come to looking human ever since the beginning of the interview, and Margie conceived a sudden liking for her new employer. Fact is, explained the latter, taking a seat, and motioning Margie to do likewise, had a most efficient social secretary for years, ever since I needed one, as a matter of fact.

Margie noted again that unusual trick of omitting a necessary word here and there. The fact that one's mind was continually kept busy filling in these omissions made it impossible to listen to Miss Pepper's discourse with any degree of quietness. It was very disconcerting, especially so to me. Margie at this time when she was so eager to learn just what it was this queer person did want of her. That was very fortunate, she said, as Miss Pepper stopped and regarded her severely, evidently expecting some reply. Quite, she agreed dryly, making Margie feel she had said something very foolish indeed.

I picked her out myself, she added, with an air of triumph, homeliest creature ever set eyes on, truly. She beamed upon Margie, evidently expecting applause, but the girl was only mystified. I don't believe I quite understand, she confessed. Why were you so anxious for a homely one? Miss Pepper frowned at such stupidity. So wouldn't get married, of course, she snapped. Silly habit, very silly.

This one, she relaxed again and smiled in memory of her former secretary, had cross eyes, terrible, and hook-nose, regular hook-nose, she had hair-lip and funny teeth, spaces between them. I should think from that description, Margie ventured demurely. You would not have to have to worry much about marriage in her case. The words, innocent enough in themselves, seemed to annoy Miss Pepper past expression. She fairly leaped from her chair and regarded the girl with a startling asperity. Would you believe it? She cried, and Margie realized with relief that her rage was for the departed secretary,

not for the present one. She deserted me, got married. Then, breathed Margie amusedly, there's hope for all of us. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12. The Blythe Girls, Helen Margie and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 12. Rex appears.

Miss Pepper stared for a moment, then broke into a shrill cackle of amusement. Oh, you have a sense of humor, she cried. Bust thing in the world. Sense of humor. Now, let's get down to work. It was some time before Margie found out just what this work consisted of, Miss Pepper being rather vague on the subject herself, it was not strange that Margie should be mystified. However, she came to the conclusion after studying the litter of papers on Miss Pepper's desk that her work would consist chiefly in reducing Miss Pepper's rather disconnected writings

and peppery speech to letters in good social form. Also, she would be expected to keep on file records of club meetings and data to be used at such meetings. Having discovered this much, she plunged wholeheartedly into her work. Just to be busy was a relief, for during this first conversation with her employer, Miss Pepper had been uncomfortably near to discharging her several times, and Margie knew it. The eccentric Miss Pepper might think she liked her now, but the next moment she was quite capable of regarding her as her bitterest enemy. It will be about as comfortable as living on the edge of a volcano,

she thought ruefully, you never know when it may start erupting and bury everybody, including Margie Blythe, in ashes two feet deep. During the days that followed, she came more and more to believe that her first impression of the new position had been the correct one. Miss Pepper was kind to her, and considerate, in a rather extraordinary way, but she was always asking unexpected questions and expecting Margie to know by instinct what things she wanted done without being told. The brightest spot in her new life was marked by the first visit of her sisters to the home of Miss Pepper.

Margie was just entering her room late one afternoon to freshen up for dinner when she heard voices in the hall below. This was not strange since Miss Pepper often had late callers, but these voices were raised as though an altercation, and one of them Margie recognized as belonging to the pert maid Jane. She turned slowly from the door of her room toward the stairway, And, as she did so, heard Jane exclaim in her thin treble, I'm sure the new social secretary is engaged with the mistress's business and cannot be disturbed. And I am quite sure she will gladly be disturbed if you will be kind enough to tell her we are here, said another voice, Helen's voice. Rose was with her, for, as Margie began hurriedly to descend the stairs,

she heard another familiar voice say impatiently, I'd like to know if you're going to keep us standing here all day. No, miss, not at all, miss, broke in another voice, and Margie knew that Oliver had appeared on the scene. She had reached the bend in the stairway and could see them all plainly. If you would be so good, miss, as to tell me your name. These young ladies are my sisters, Oliver, said Margie quietly, and Oliver turned to her with an apologetic air.

Quite so, miss. Jane here did not understand. What it was that Jane did or did not understand never came to light, for at that moment, Rose flung her arms about her sister with a cry of delight. You old darling! she cried, regardless of the indulgent Oliver and the super-sillious Jane. We thought we'd lost you for good, Margie. Now hurry and show us everything, for we've only a little while to stay. Margie hugged them both as they went up the wide staircase together,

and, for some absurd reason, her eyes were full of tears, and her throat held a lump it was hard to swallow. However, Rose kept up a running fire of comment that made it unnecessary for her to talk. Isn't Oliver a perfect lamb? Rose chuckled. You were quite right about his three chins, Margie dear. They're beautiful. But that dreadful maid! Jane is her name? I don't see how you stand her about. I couldn't. Oh, Margie, you don't mean to say that you really... live here? For they had reached Margie's room, and the latter had flung open the door with an air of pride. "'It's mine,' she assured them, at least for as long as I stay with Miss Pepper,' she added,

so ruefully that Helen gave her a quick, anxious glance. "'Everything's all right, isn't it, dear?' she questioned. "'You're quite happy in your work.' "'Oh, I love it,' said Margie, with such evident sincerity that Helen was satisfied. A happy time of inspecting everything and exclaiming about everything followed, and Margie began to feel at home in her new surroundings for the first time. If only she might keep her sisters with her always. From the first, Margie found her work interesting, and as the days went on and she accustomed herself to her surroundings, she became very well satisfied with her lot. It was not long before she found out too, that, so far from being almost mad, as she had at first thought her,

Miss Pepper was extraordinarily clever. She belonged to several worthwhile women's clubs, was president of one, and the chairman of an important committee in another, and was deeply interested in child welfare work. As this last also interested Margie keenly, a bond of mutual sympathy and understanding strengthened their relationship, growing gradually into friendship. Miss Pepper was interested in the girl's desire to become more proficient in her typewriting and stenography and generously gave her a chance to gratify this desire by giving her all her evenings free. Margie immediately started a night school course. This took up three evenings a week and left her the others to spend with Helen and Rose in the tiny uptown flat. It was about two weeks after her entrance into the Pepper household that Margie discovered that her employer,

possessed a male relative. Miss Pepper had never spoken of any family connections, and Margie had gradually come to believe that the maiden lady was alone in the world, but she discovered her mistake when Rex Pepper appeared upon the scene. Rex was about 21, but he looked and acted scarcely 19. He was good-looking in a large featured fashion,

extravagantly well-dressed and carefully groomed. Margie never saw him when a hair on his sleeve, weakly brushed head was out of place or his tie awry. He had a grin, too, good-natured and disarming, which he seemed never to take off. Margie and Miss Pepper were seated in the library one day, while the latter dictated letters to the various clubs in which she was interested, when a sudden noise and sound of altercation was heard without. But she's busy, sir. She left special orders that she was not to be disturbed. Oh, go chase your yourself around the block old porpoise came in cheery masculine tones you know very well she will welcome me with open arms i say oliver my coat and stick what ho are you blind

this last was uttered in a tone of authority which evidently cowed the protesting oliver he was heard to murmur something about no sir not at all sir and the next moment a grinning young giant parted the curtains and stepped into the library the expression of Miss Pepper had been growing gradually more forbidding in the last few seconds, but the newcomer seemed not to notice it. He walked right over to the little old lady, lifted her by the elbows from her chair, deliberately kissed her on both cheeks, and set her gently down again. There now, you aren't going to be cross with your only beloved nephew, are you? He wheedled, as Miss Pepper's expression remained stern and unrelenting, especially when he has just returned from a horrible cruise on a horrible yacht. Can't you see I'm busy?

Miss Pepper snapped at him by the barest perceptible gesture, indicating her rather startled but amused secretary. Are you blind? Not at all, retorted Rex, turning deliberately and letting his eyes rest with admiration upon Margie's flushed face. I am in full possession of my eyesight, my dear aunt. And mighty thankful I am for it.

Margie's eyes dropped before the admiration in his. For some reason, she was furiously angry with him. A spoiled young cub, that's what he is, she thought resentfully, and how I detest that type. There was a great deal more of the same kind of conversation between Rex Pepper and his aunt, while the latter grew more and more exasperated, and the grin of the former grew more wicked

in the enjoyment of baiting the little old lady. time and again Rex Pepper made an attempt to draw Margie into the conversation, but she never once raised her eyes from the pad in her hand. It was Miss Pepper who finally won, and she fairly she shooed the lumbering overgrown boy out of the library. For all the world, thought Margie, like a little belligerent hen pecking at a great good-natured Newfoundland dog. Miss Pepper came back to Margie, and without saying a word of this extraordinary invasion of her privacy,

She began dictating a letter. Then, as suddenly, stopped to question sharply, Well, what do you think of him? Think of whom, queried Margie, feigning ignorance. Of that great, lumbering idiot of a nephew of mine, retorted the old lady angrily. Whom suppose meant? Oliver? I didn't know, retorted Margie, eyes demurely downcast.

You didn't mention any names. Well, aren't you going to? to answer me? What think of him? cried the old lady, more irritably than before. Do you want to know my honest opinion? asked Margie, looking up at the old lady who snapped at her in answer. That's what asked you, wasn't it? Well then, said Margie slowly, I should say that he was considerably spoiled and awfully conceited. Right, cried the surprising old woman delighted. I said you had brains. Come on now, work. For the next hour or two, Margie was kept so busy that she never gave a thought to Rex Pepper. In fact, she had forgotten that any such person existed when she was

suddenly confronted by that gentleman himself. Miss Pepper had finished her dictation and had gone upstairs to rest while Margie lingered to rearrange some notes she had taken. So she was quite alone when Rex Pepper put in his appearance. A shadow fell across her page, and she looked up startled to see him standing beside her. He seemed taller and broader than ever, and he still wore his amiable grin. You aren't going to work any longer, are you? He asked in the same wheedling tone he'd used with his angry aunt. You really shouldn't, you know, not on a day like this. I haven't had time to find out what kind of a day it is, returned Margie coldly, hastily gathering up her notes in preparation for flight.

that's just the point urged this overgrown boy evidently not in the least dismayed by her icy manner you shouldn't allow my aunt to make a slave of you she's a kindly old soul at heart it was on the tip of margie's tongue to retort that she must be very good-natured and kind indeed to put up with such a nephew but in the course of her short apprenticeship in the employ of miss pepper she had learned to control such impulses instead she made no reply at all, she merely gathered up her papers and started for the door. At this, Rex Pepper protested in an injured tone. You don't mean to say you're going to run away like that, he cried, adding urgently, I say, can't you wait long enough for a fellow to ask you a question? Margie at the door hesitated and half turned. There was something boyish and eager in his tone that for the moment disarmed her. Rex Pepper reached her side in two strides and looked down at her appealingly. I say, it's such a glorious day. Won't you come for a ride? The little old bus isn't much to look at,

but it sure shows some speed. No, thank you, replied Margie, as coldly as she could. I have some work to do. Oh, well, I suppose I should have expected that, since I know what you think of me. Margie looked at him sharply. What do you mean by that? she asked. Why, Rex explained, and he was still wearing his disarming grin. Oh, I happened to hear your private and quite plainly expressed opinion of me. You were listening? Margie flared at him. You were eavesdropping.

Not at all, protested Rex Pepper, looking pained. I just happened to be passing. But I say, won't you change your mind and come for a ride? Margie swept past him with the air of a queen. She stopped at the foot of the stairs to transfix him with a look. I thought, she said Isily, that I had already answered that question. End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13

The Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose, by Laura Lee Hope. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13. trouble. Margie's first encounter with Rex Pepper was ended, but it was not to be her last. Fortunately, the young man did not live with his aunt in the Riverside Drive house. If he had, Margie would probably have been tempted to resign her position. His father was dead, and his mother, an extremely rich widow, owned several homes, both summer and winter. At the present time, she had gone abroad for the summer, and Rex, bored by minors.

transatlantic excursions had decided to stay at home for the summer and get acquainted with his own city under novel aspects now because of Margie he was thanking his stars for this decision Margie wondering how anybody could be bored by too many trips to Europe wished just as devoutly that he had gone with his mother and left her in peace not that she altogether disliked him he was good-natured and likable in many ways and his open-outher admiration for her was as flattering as it was annoying. But she still considered him a spoiled and conceited youth who needed a good lesson to bring him to his senses. Then too, she was

extremely busy and more than ever anxious to make good in her new position, so that she had no time to accept the young man's repeated invitations had she so wished. She was attending night school and becoming daily more proficient in the service of her employer. As far as she was concerned, the future looked very bright indeed, if only Rex Pepper would keep out of her life. For Rose, it was a different story. Her position was not turning out just as she had expected and hoped it would. To be sure, she very soon accustomed herself to the routine of the store and found it more interesting than she had had any idea it could be. There were, for instance, the restrooms for the girls. They were large and airy and comfortably furnished,

the large chairs and couches inviting laziness. Oh, what time we have to rest, I'm sure I've never found out. Annabel Black had grumbled, in response to the surprised and delighted comments of Rose, I think the management calls them restrooms as a sort of joke on us. It sure is a joke, goy, take it from me. It was Annabel also who introduced Rose to the locker room and found her small individual compartment for her. Rose did not like the locker room,

It was long and narrow and rather dark, being lighted only by one window high above the floor. For some curious reason, the lockers, numbered and all in a row, made her think of prison cells. She became more accustomed to this room as the days went by, but she never quite succeeded in overcoming her dislike of it. One thing that bothered Rose was the time clock system. It had always been hard for her to be on time, and she was surprised to find how much difference five minutes. made in the store routine. She struggled hard to overcome her tendency towards tardiness, and succeeded so well that gradually the time clock ceased to be a terror to her, and became merely a recognized part of the day's routine. The real thorn in her side was Miss O'Brien.

This lady was the head of the millinery trimmings department, who had not been present on the first day of Rose's apprenticeship in the department store, for the reason that she was just convalescing from a severe cold, but who had been very much present every day thereafter. Miss O'Brien was a martinet of the most crabbed and unpleasant kind. She was one of those very efficient persons who continually go about with their noses in the air, hunting for trouble. And when one hunts for trouble, one is always pretty sure to find it. At least Miss O'Brien did, all the girls disliked her, but she and Mr. Herbert Schoenberg were firm friends. It seemed to be their special delight to harry and trouble the girls under their

jurisdiction. One day, in the midst of troubled thoughts concerning this same Miss O'Brien, Rose chanced to look across the intervening counters toward the elevators and saw a familiar figure. It was Helen. Rose flushed with pleasure and pulled at Bertie North's sleeve. Look, she cried, here comes my sister, isn't she the sweetest thing? Fortunately, there was a lull in the push of customers about the millinery trimmings counter so that Bertie could give her interested attention to the slender fair-haired girl approaching them. How pretty she is! exclaimed the tired, patient little thing. She is the one you told me about. The artist of the family, isn't she rose?

The latter nodded and then turned to greet Helen with hands joyfully outstretched across the counter. Of course, this tall, dreamy-eyed sister of hers had to be introduced to all the girls at the millinery trimmings counter and to several other of Rose's new acquaintances as well. The girl was bubbling over with pleasure at the unexpected visit and very proud of her sister too. She could see that all the girls were impressed, even Annabel Black. Then several impotunate customers charged down to the counter and Helen knew it was time for her to make her escape. It was dear of you to come, said Rose, squeezing her hand tight across the counter.

I wish you would do it often, Nell. I will, promised her sister, and was impatiently and almost rudely pushed aside by a thin little old woman with thick-lens spectacles and a terrific scowl. Attend to me, if you please, young lady, said this new customer, as Rose wistfully watched Helen disappear among the throng of shoppers,

if you would be so good as to bring your mind to the subject of plumes. With an effort, Rose focused her attention on the speaker. What can I do for you, madam? She asked automatically. Hugh may sell me one of these willow plumes, if you would be so kind. Snap the woman, and Rose hastened to set a dazzling array of the plumes before her. Not colors, protested the queer customer. Suppose I want to deck myself out like circus clown?

Ridiculous. Green, yellow, orange, red, every color of the rainbow? Show me black ones. Rose hurried to set some magnificent black plumes. before her customer, who, after considering for a short time, picked out one. There was something familiar about the woman, but Rose could not tell just what it was till the old lady requested that her purchase be charged and sent to Miss Dorcas Pepper at a certain address on Riverside Drive. Rose leaned forward eagerly and started to speak,

but with an abruptness it characterized all her actions, Miss Pepper turned away and was walking briskly towards the east wing of the store before the words came. That's Margie's Miss Pepper, Roe said aloud, and Annabel Black, overhearing, glanced at her curiously. Talking to yourself, Goyley? Awful bad habit. I knew a fellow once said it was a sure sign of a weak brain. But say, Goily, who's your new friend in the black outfit? Her name is Miss Pepper, and one of my sisters lives with her, a sort of social secretary she is. Take it for me, Posey, I sure pity your sister, commiserated the older girl, but Rose chuckled delightedly. Oh, I don't know, she said. I shouldn't wonder if Margie was in for a lot of fun myself.

Huh, snorted Annabel. That all depends on what you like to call fun. In the days that followed Helen's visit to the store and Rose's encounter with Miss Pepper, Rose found herself singularly free from the floor walker's criticism, and she wondered considerably about this until the sophisticated Annabel Black, pointed out that Rose was the prettiest thing in that part of the world, and that Mr. Schoenberg was not exactly what just might call blind. Meanwhile, Rose made one good friend in the Losar Martin store, and she was Birdie North, the quiet and efficient girl whom she had liked at first sight. Bertie, whose real name was Roberta, and who had been given her nickname by the girls in the

store, because she was always hopping around, to quote Annabelle Black again, spent several evenings with Rose and her sisters in the Blythe apartment, and Rose, on her part, went often with Bertie to visit the little three-room flat where the girl and her invalid mother managed to eke out an existence. On one of these occasions, Rose stopped at a restaurant on the way to Bertie's home and spent some of her hard-earned salary on a few delicacies for the mother of her friend. Bertie had once told her wistfully that Mrs. North craved chicken sandwiches with salad dressing, ice cream, and roses.

She has said that if her mother could have all three of these things at one time, she would live happily ever after. So upon this occasion, Rose bought recklessly of chicken sandwiches, had a quart of French ice cream packed solidly in one brick, and, a little further on, stopped at a florist's for her last and greatest extravagance, a half-dozen exquisite T.E. Rosebuds. The clerk, probably influenced by the flushed eagerness of his pretty customer,

added a generous amount of ferns, and packed the hole in an alluring green box. Feeling like somebody's fairy godmother, Rose proceeded to the North's apartment. Bertie opened the door, and Rose pushed quickly past her. I've come to see your mother today, she announced, making straight for the door at the end of the little dark hall, which she knew led to Mrs. North's room. May I go in?

She paused and looked around at her friend who nodded emphatically. Of course, she said. Mother is always happy to see you, Posey. It's Rose Blythe, Mother, she said, pushing open the door. And it looks as if she has come bearing gifts, too. Mrs. North, in her invalid chair near the window, looked up eagerly as the two girls entered. Rose went straight over to her, and, kneeling beside the chair, took one of the worn hands in hers.

I've brought you something I think you'll like, she said, feeling suddenly shy in the presence of this thin, pale, patient woman. Bertie said you like chicken sandwiches, ice cream, and roses, and here they are. She placed the box of flowers in the invalid's lap, and, to hide her embarrassment, began to take the wrappings from her other two gifts. slowly, with an expression of wonder in her patient eyes, Mrs. North untied the ribbon about the florist's box and removed the cover. At the sight of the exquisite buds in their nest of green, the invalid cried out softly, then buried her face in the flowers. Smell them! Oh, the fragrance of them!

Smell them! She cried to the two girls who were watching her with misty eyes. It's like a little bit of heaven come down to earth. Rose Blythe, you dear girl! How did you know I love tea roses best of all? Bertie told me, and she told me you like these, too. Rose pushed forward the sandwiches and the box of ice cream, and Mrs. North laughed suddenly and with the excitement of a child who has been given a new toy after a long, long time of no toys at all.

It was a wonderful party, and when Rose tore herself away at least, last, Bertie followed her to the door. Rose, did you hear her laugh? She cried, her eyes wide with wonder. I would give, I would give anything, everything to keep her laughing like that. And you did it, Rose Blythe. Oh, Posey, I do love you. For days after that, Rose could think of little but Bertie's mother and Bertie's pitiful cry.

I would give anything, everything. to keep her laughing like that. Rose grew to love Mrs. North, who was always hopeful and cheerful, despite her poverty and invalid condition. As her affection grew for both these new friends of hers, she became more and more indignant with the girls at the store, to say nothing of Herbert Schoenberg and disagreeable Miss O'Brien,

who made Birdie North's burden so much heavier than it should have been. It was only Bertie herself, who prevented Rose from voicing this indignation. it will make them all dislike you as though i'd care cried rose stoutly and bertie looked at her with a wistful little smile wise beyond her years perhaps you wouldn't now she said with a shake of her head but that's only because you don't know how dreadful it is to be disliked well if you think i'm afraid to say anything i like cried rose her eyes snapping you are very much mistaken bertie north you just wait till the next time Mr. Schoenberg talks to you as if you were the dust under his feet. Oh, Rose, you mustn't say anything. You mustn't. Roberta laid a thin little hand on her friend's arm, and Rose was surprised to see that it was trembling. Don't you see? Birdie's eyes were wide with terror. I might lose my position, and then what would I do? What would Mother do? Rose hesitated, staring at Bertie,

angry and perplexed. She could see her friend's side of it, of course, but in her heart she knew that the whole thing was horribly unfair. Because she so desperately needed the pittance the store allowed her for her work behind the counter, the girl could not defend herself against cowardly attack, could not even allow a friend to stand up for her. Why, it's dreadful, cried Rose.

Her blue eyes very wide. It's like being a slave! Birdie nodded. That's just what we are, she said grimly. Slaves to a system. How true that observation was, Rose found out only the next day. There was trouble. Serious trouble at the store.

Among other things, upon the counter behind which Rose spent most of her waking hours, there was a collection of exquisite and expensive plumes. Rose had sold many of these to wealthy and discriminating patrons of the store, store, and she delighted in the mere sight and touch of them. She even indulged in a daydream or two about the time when she herself would be able to wear one of these luxurious and beautiful things. There was a blue one that she knew exactly matched the color of her eyes. She put away these dreams resolutely, although they inspired her to work with a double fervor and to study with greater enthusiasm the fascinating work of buying and selling. Perhaps one day she might rise

to the dizzy heights of buyer for the Lossarton department store. That would mean, but Rose refused to let herself think of all this would mean. She knew that it was necessary for her to learn to walk before she attempted to fly, and very sensibly she resolved to bend all her energies upon building of a solid foundation for her future success. But upon this particular day, something altogether unheard of and mystifying occurred. A willow plume, one of the handsomest and most expensive, disappeared in some mysterious fashion from the counter.

Since these valuable ornaments were especially under Rose's care, it was natural that the grim visaged Miss O'Brien, and, later still, Mr. Schoenberg, should look to her for an accounting. Rose, perplexed and bewildered, could only reply in response to their increasingly severe questioning that she had no idea what had become of the plume. Except for the luncheon hour, she had been there constantly. You are sure no one could have taken it while your back was to the counter? Miss O'Brien questioned sharply.

Rose looked her squarely in the eyes. I am quite certain that I did not turn my back, Miss O'Brien, she answered quietly. As you know, we have been very busy all day, and I have been right on this spot since the rush started this morning. I think we may dismiss the possibility of theft. Mr. Schoenberg told the agitated Miss O'Brien. By a customer, that is, he added, with a cold look at Rose, which affected her like the glassy eye of a reptile. Our detectives are very efficient and continually on the watch, as you know.

I feel quite sure that an article of such value as this plume could not have been carried from the store. Rose stared at him wide-eyed. What was it he was trying to imply? Of what was he tacitly accusing her? Something happened to her heart, and she knew for the first time what fear was like. Was it possible that they suspected her, Rose Blythe, of taking that plume?

The lockers of all the girls were searched, but nothing was discovered, not even a clue that might lead to the mysteriously missing plume. When closing time came, Rose wended her way homeward with a heavy heart. Even her righteous indignation at being suspected of a crime she did not commit could not drive the fear from her heart. If she could only forget how Mr. Schaumburg had looked when he had spoken.

Anyway, she would not tell Helen and Margie, not just now. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Margie and Margie. Rose. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 14. Helen takes a chance. Rose faithfully kept her promise to herself and did not tell either of her sisters of the trouble at the store, but only she herself knew how much this restraint cost her. It would have been such a relief to have cried out the whole miserable story on Helen's

sympathetic shoulder and have seen Margie's temper flash forth at this injunction. justice. But they were having troubles of their own, as she very well knew, and she stoutly determined that she would not add to them. As no trace could be found of the missing plume, and, as there seemed no possibility of placing the responsibility for its disappearance upon any of the employees of the Lossar Martin Department store, the affair gradually blew over. Nevertheless, rose knew by the attitude of both the floor-walker and Miss O'Brien that they suspect that they suspected her of knowing more than she had been willing to tell of the affair. She suspected also that she was being constantly watched. All this did not tend to make Rose very happy in

her work, and she found it increasingly hard to force herself to enter the magnificent portals of the Lossar Martin department store. Meantime, Helen was doing a great deal of thinking on her own account, and the result of it was eventually to bring a joyful surprise to the girls. she had fixed up the apartment to the best of her ability and the effect was good like her mother she possessed the gift of making a little go a long way and although the draperies in the little apartment were of cretan and not the best quality at that the colors were so tasteful and pretty that the entire place took on a home-like air where it had been only one cubby-hole in a nest of similar cubby-holes it became through the older girl's ingenuity a home but having accomplished this much helen found herself at a standstill the little flat was as pleasant and home-like as she could make it and time began to hang heavily upon her hands she had her art of course but she felt that even in that she had come to a standstill she had made a great number of sketches some in watercolors some in black and white but she felt that she was not qualified to undertake more ambitious work until she had had further instructions And to gain this longed for instruction, she must have money.

To be sure, Rose and Margie turned over the bulk of their salaries to her, only reserving enough for daily expenses and the clothing they actually needed, but this was no more than enough to pay the rent of the apartment and furnish them with food and their living. Helen went for comfort, as always, to her sketches, and at last she found in them an inspiration also. try to sell them, she asked herself out loud. Her voice sounding queer in the stillness of the orderly living room. Somebody might think they were worth something. It would be better, she finished

with a little twist at the corners of her mouth, than robbing a bank anyway. Once resolved to try her luck, she became possessed by a feverish excitement. She searched through the sketches, selecting one here, rejecting another there, till she had what she thought was the cream of the lot. So urgent was the feverish desire for action that she had dressed herself for the street before the thought occurred to her that she had not the slightest idea where the shops of the art dealers of the city were to be found. A look in the telephone directory, she decided, and at that moment there came to her whisperingly from the past a recollection. She had heard her mother speak of Dawson and Davis, a firm of art dealers whom she had highly respected. In fact,

It had been the senior member of the firm who had been interested in her work before her marriage and had prophesied a great future for her. If she went to this kindly man for whom she knew her mother had always felt the greatest esteem, told him of their relationship, and begged for his help in giving her a start. But suddenly, Helen's chin went up with a jerk, and a look of resolution came into her eyes. No, she could not do this. She would stand on her own feet or not at all. If her sketches were not good enough to sell on their own face value, then she would never sell them.

She would ask no favors of anyone. Several times during that trip downtown, Helen's resolution weakened. She wanted success so dreadfully, and it would help so to have an influential friend, interested for old times' sake. She was still undecided when she opened the door of the small but beautifully appointed establishment of Dawson and Davis. There was no one visible when she first entered, and she had a moment or two to look around her at the beautiful paintings that adorned the wall or stood proudly upon easels, arranged so that the light might fall most flatteringly upon them. Helen felt very small and insignificant and humble amid all this magnificence. What could Mr. Dawson, or Mr. Davis, either, do with her poor aspiring little sketches when they dealt in masterpieces like these? In sudden panic, she turned, portfolio in hand, and was starting for the door when a voice at the rear of the shop brought her to a standstill.

She summoned all her willpower and turned toward the voice. She saw a small, dapper, rather insignificant-looking man, with hair so tightly curled that it kinked all over his head. He wore tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses that gave his light blue eyes a curious twinkling look. What will you have today, madam? he said, adding ingratiatingly, if I can serve you in any way, Helen swallowed a lump in her throat, and, because the last remnants of her courage were rapidly disappearing, hastily stated her mission.

Though the manner of Mr. Davis, she learned during the course of the conversation that Mr. Dawson was away on a business trip, was as courteous and pleasant as ever, Helen felt from the moment she began to open her portfolio that his interest had waned, probably she was nothing more to him than one of the thousands of aspiring young artists in the city, and he was evidently prepared to find her work amateurish and crude even before she submitted it for his inspection.

Timidly, Helen drew forth her precious sketches and laid them upon the counter. She was dimly aware that another person had come into the store and was peering over her shoulder. At any other time, she would have resented this rudeness, but at the moment she was too wrought up. to care about such a little thing. Mr. Davis adjusted his eyeglasses, casually lifted one of her precious sketches in his hand. He inspected it for a second or two while Helen regarded him with imploring eyes,

then turned to the next. He inspected them all, thumbed them over once more, then cleared his throat and looked at Helen. These sketches show a certain amount of talent, he said moderately, while Helen stared at him speechless. If Mr. Dawson were here, we might, or talk things over, as it is, well, we don't specialize in things of this sort, you know. He smiled and made a gesture that was evidently meant to be affable and reassuring. As I say, you show a certain degree of talent, and after a few more years of study, he turned to a customer, and Helen blindly returned the sketches to the portfolio.

What was it, he had said? Oh, she did not remember, she did not want to remember, if he had only said they were hopelessly bad, she might have stood it, but praise like that. Encouragement like that? She turned swiftly away, eager to reach the street, before the tears smarting behind her eyes could force past her control. She had almost reached the door when she felt a gentle hand upon her arm and turned, startled to find herself looking into a pair of kindly twinkling old eyes.

Well, the man surprisingly remarked, you very nearly got away from me, after all. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15, the Blythe Girls, Helen Margie and Rose. By Laura Lee Hope. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 15. Good Prospects

Helen stared at the old man for a moment in complete bewilderment, blinking back the tears of disappointment and humiliation. I don't think I quite understand, she said. Then, as the old man continued to regard her with his kindly twinkling eyes, haven't you made a mistake? I think not, or at least I hope not, said he, adding with a chuckle, I can better tell when I've had a closer look at your sketches. At the words, all Helen's misery and disappointment rushed back again

in a flood. I don't think my sketches will be shown again today, she said softly. At her words, the look in the elderly man's eyes softened to one of sympathetic pity. Youth always takes a first setback for the end of the road, he said, and gently led Helen toward the door. If you will come to my little shop around the corner, he said, as on the sidewalk they stopped and faced each other, I think I may be able to make a proposition that will interest you. Helen hesitated a moment, then walked on with her new acquaintance.

Her breath came quickly as she asked, Are you too an art dealer? Only a poor relation to Dawson and Davis, replied her companion, with his twinkling smile as he led her down a side street and opened the door of a modest little shop. But for all that, we have a reputation that we need not be ashamed of. Once inside, the old gentleman turned to her with a friendly smile. Now, if you will let me see your sketches once again, he suggested.

Helen complied, trying not to let herself hope too much from the friendliness of her new acquaintance. She noticed that the latter seemed to care nothing for the sketches in black and white, but he took several watercolors she had brought with her and walked with them to the front of the shop where he could get a better light upon them. He came to her again after a moment, smiling in his friendly fashion. You like them? She asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper. I like them very much, he replied, adding quickly as he saw the swift flash of hope in her eyes.

Unfortunately, I do not buy sketches of this sort. However, I have other work that you can do for me if you're willing. And you'll pay me for it? cried Helen eagerly, and the next moment flushed with embarrassment as she realized the very mercenary sound of that question, the eyes of the old gentleman twinkled. I have a habit of paying for work that's done for me, he assured her, and Helen hoped that, as he turned his back at that moment,

he did not see her confusion. He turned back to her, a bundle of prints in his hand. I have many of these that need to be colored, he told the wide-eyed girl, and I have trouble finding anyone who could. do this work for me satisfactorily. But you are a true artist. You have a nice sense of color. In a few years, I believe with my friend Mr. Davis, you will have something to give the world. Helen flushed again, but this time it was with pleasure. I am very glad to hear you say that,

she said softly. I should like to be an artist more than anything else in the world. You are already that, my dear young lady, the old gentleman, assured her kindly. It remains only for you to become a great artist. Now, as to these prints, he added, becoming suddenly very businesslike, I will pay you a fairly good price for these, and he named price that made Helen's heart jump with joy. If these are as satisfactory as I think they should be from my observation of the kind of color work you do, I will give you more. There will be more, queried Helen,

feeling suddenly faint in the reaction from her discouragement. The old gentleman smiled, As much more, I believe, as you can do. Helen was in such a days of delight as she left the shop that she had not gone almost a block towards the subway when she realized that she did not even know her new employer's name. She retraced her steps,

The heavy bundle of prints growing suddenly heavier with every foot of the way, but when she reached the store, she was just in time to see the old gentleman disappearing around a corner ahead of her. She could not run after him, burdened as she was. She glanced up at the little sign above the door of the shop. There, printed in gold letters on a black background was the caption, G.W. Bullard, art dealer. She made a mental note of the number and turned back.

again toward the subway. It was later than she thought, and she found the subway jammed with perspiring humanity on the way home from work. Wedged in between a fat woman and a dusky-skinned Italian who smelled of garlic, Helen was forced to stand until she was within a few minutes' ride of her own station. There she got out and staggered homeward with her heavy weight. She was eager to tell her triumph to her sisters and hoped that they would not have reached home before her. Rose generally got in about six o'clock, but when Margie had dinner with them, she generally reached there earlier. The walk from the station to the little flat seemed never-ending, and several times Helen was forced to put her bundle down for a moment while she rested her arm and regained her breath.

The next corner in she would be home. Now she gained it, if only the girls had not reached there before her. Helen stumbled as she reached the steps, just as a young man came riskily up from the other direction. The heavy bundle of Prince flew from her hand, and she felt her arm clasped firmly, while a pleasant voice said in her ear, that bottom step is a nuisance. It's only a half step anyway, and ought to be abolished. Helen gasped out an apology and looked at the owner of the pleasant voice. He had a fine face, thin and strong, and there was a humorous look in his gray eyes and about the corners of his mouth. He stooped and recovered. covered the package of prints, but as Helen held out her hand for it with a murmur of thanks,

he retained it smilingly. It's much too heavy for you to carry, he said. Let me carry it up for you. As he was already carrying out this suggestion and urging her gently toward the doorway, Helen had no alternative but to assent to it. There was something familiar about his face, she thought, and then remembered having seen this young man entering and leaving the apartment. house on several occasions.

Are you a neighbor of mine? She asked on impulse, and the young man smiled. I am. If people in apartment houses can be said to be neighbors, he responded. They had now reached Helen's door, and she felt hurriedly in her purse for her key. I live on the first floor, and my name is Draper. Hugh Draper, he told her. I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Draper. The door flew open suddenly and Rose stood in the doorway. Good gracious, I thought you had deserted us forever!

The last words died off in a stare of amazement as she saw that Helen was not alone. Helen introduced Mr. Draper to Rose and, after thanking the young man again for his courtesy, said goodbye to him and followed the excited and talkative Rose into the apartment. Good gracious, where did you pick up that perfectly stunning man? cried the latter, facing her sister in the small dining room. Isn't he better than any moving picture hero you ever saw? And his eyes! Did you notice them? Gray and dark-lashed.

My, I'm crazy about him. Don't be a little idiot, retorted Helen, smiling despite herself. Probably Mr. Draper would be very much amazed to find that he had gray eyes and long lashes. Don't you believe it, returned Rose calmly. I bet he knows all about it, and how to use them, too. But say now, where have you been, and what's in this package? She was nosing at the prince, like an inquisitive young squirrel. With an air of triumph she could not conceal, Helen told her of the day's happenings.

Rose whirled her sister about the room in a dance of jubilation, and as Margie Slatchke was heard in the door at that moment, the story had to be told all over again. They had a veritable feast that evening, and as Joe Morris happened in a little later, they finished the celebration by all going to the movies together. Joe had become a familiar visitor by this time at the little flat, and Helen watched the growing friendship between him and Rose with some questionings. However, as he never asked the younger girl anywhere without including her and Margie in the invitation,

Helen did not see how she could interfere. Margie stayed with them that night, declaring that she must report to Miss Pepper early the next morning. Tomorrow is her busy day, and mine too, she told the other girls, as they were preparing for bed that night. And if nobody objects, I think I'll put the alarm clock under my pillow so that I can't possibly oversleep. But in spite of her precaution, Margie did oversleep the following morning. For the first time in its reliable history, the alarm clock failed to go off. I dread to go at all, cried Margie, as she dressed in an agony of haste. She gets so terribly cross if anyone keeps her waiting.

Rose jammed a hat down over her hair and turned to Margie with a grin. That just shows she's an old maid. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the Blythe Girls, Helen Margie and Rose. by Laura Lee Hope. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 16 Something Wrong Margie, alarmed at the prospect of her employer's displeasure,

committed the unheard extravagance of employing a taxi cab to take her to the Riverside Drive house. The ride downtown seemed a nightmare. Traffic policemen popped out at them repeatedly, seeming only to wait the appearance of Margie in her cab as an excuse to tie up the long line of traffic. They reached the drive and Miss Pepper's home at last, and after paying the taxi cab driver, Margie hurried into the house her heart in her mouth. With any ordinary person, it would have been easy to explain the reason for her tardiness. They would have had a laugh over the alarm clock's failure and let it go at that.

Not so with Miss Pepper. upon some points she was as much of a martinet as roses Miss O'Brien at the Lossar Martin store. And she had a passion for promptness. Margie's disquiet was not relieved by the fact that she was met in the hall by the impertinent maid Jane, who announced that her mistress had gone out several minutes earlier and had left a message for her secretary. At this moment, Rex Pepper stepped from the library and after greeting Margie, like a long-lost friend, turned with a commanding air to the maid. I will deliver your mistress's message, Jane, he said nonchalantly.

The girl hesitated, but Pepper had an air with his aunt's servants that rather overawed them. Jane hesitated, another moment, started to speak, thought better of it, and finally left Margie and Rex alone. Come into the library a minute, Miss Blythe, said the young fellow, holding back the curtains invitingly. You needn't stand there looking poised for flight. Margie entered the library, then turned to him in agitation. Will you please deliver your aunt's message at once? she demanded. If she has gone, I must follow her. That's exactly what I was about to suggest, replied Rex Pepper, with every air of sincerity. I have my car already. Car? What has your car to do with it? cried Margie,

puzzled and annoyed. Oh, everything, as you will soon find out, retorted Pepper. Now, Miss Blythe, this is the idea. He leaned toward her. My aunt wants you to come out to the Blow Belt, naming a fashionable hotel on Long Island. She had to go there to meet some of her infernal old clubwomen and she was very anxious to have you come out there

and take stenographic notes of the meeting. Margie flashed him a look of suspicion. Strange she didn't say anything about this to me yesterday, she said, voicing the suspicion. She didn't know anything about it until last evening after you left, answered Rex, still with that disarming air of sincerity. The Shindig seems a rather important one, and that's why she couldn't wait for you this morning. Margie was convinced at last, and she made an impatient movement toward the door. In that case, we'd better be on our way, she suggested.

Righto, exclaimed Rex cheerfully. As I said, the good little bus is all ready and all we need to do is to step on the gas. He escorted her to the street with as much formality as though they had been going to a dance together and pointed out with pride the nanny little roadster that stood on the curb waiting for them. Just made for two, he observed, as he opened the door and Margie slid into the low seat. You just wait till you hear how easy she runs. The car did run easily, and under other circumstances, Margie would have enjoyed that run into the country immensely. It was luxury to sit in that comfortable, gently purring little speed car,

to feel the wind on her face and to know again the joy and freedom of the outdoors. She stole a sideways glance at Rex Pepper and saw that he was better looking than she had thought him, now that he was doing something purposeful, if not particularly important. He returned her look and grinned. Having a good time, he queried. Margie stiffened. She was not taking this ride for a good time, and he should have realized that fact without telling. It's pleasant, she admitted.

But you're not taking the ride for your health? asked Rex Pepper. You're a wonder, Miss Blythe. If I were half as crazy about work as you are, I'd be a Wall Street financier by this time. Perhaps it would be better if you hated work less, remarked Margie, and Rex Pepper flushed under her glance. The next moment, he resumed his usual good-natured grin. I see you have acquired my aunt's disapproval of me, Miss Blythe, he said, adding with a quick look at her. Never mind. She doesn't hate me. me half as much as she pretends to, and you aren't going to either when you know me better. To this, Margie deigned no reply. From that time on, until they were forced to stop and change

a tire, the girl kept her eyes straight on the road ahead and answered her companion's questions in the briefest of monosyllables. Say, that's hot work, let me tell you, exclaimed Pepper, as he finished the exchange of tires and wiped his hands on a bit of old waist. What say we stop? for a little refreshment. A dish of ice cream, or two, or six? There's a first-rate joy dispersing parlor, just a little way down the road. His voice and his eyes were pleading, but Margie replied firmly in the negative. We haven't time, she reminded him. If Miss Pepper is waiting, oh, hang my aunt, exploded the boy as he slithered into the driver's seat and sulkily started the engine. anybody'd think she was a Tsarino or something.

She is to me, sighed Margie, and again her companion favored her with a swift glance. This time, this time he seemed really intent upon getting her to her destination as quickly as possible. As they covered mile after mile of white road, he kept his eyes ahead, seeming to urge every atom of speed out of the car. Margie leaned back with a sigh of relief. They must be almost there by now. Here we are, said Rex Pepper suddenly. Margie saw a long, winding drive leading up to a picturesque, rambling old building in colonial style, painted white with green shutters.

Rex drove up to the hotel and got out lazily. I'll hunt up the old lady for you, and when I find her, I'll deliver her to you, he said. And Margie was glad enough to assent to this. There were several fashionably dressed people promenading the verandas, and Margie was conscious of her severely plain business suit. Rex appeared in what seemed an impossibly short time, and as he came over to the car, his boyish face was a study. He looked at the same time anxious, triumphant, and apologetic. Well, queried Margie, impatiently, sensing that something was wrong. Did you find her?

She's gone, said the young fellow, adding with a grin. Guess she got tired of waiting. Margie sat very still and her face grew suddenly white. Rex Pepper climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Where are you going? asked the girl with stiff lips. Why, we may as well go for a ride since business is off for today, he answered carelessly. Margie turned upon him suddenly, her eyes blazing with anger. You will stop this car at once, Mr. Pepper.

I am going to get out. If you don't stop the car, I'll jump out. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 17. Jealousy. There was no mistaking the fact that Margie was in deadly earnest.

Rex Pepper gave her one quick. glance and slowed the car, swinging over to the side of the road. What's all the row, he was asking, in an injured tone, when a handsome limousine, coming from the opposite direction, slowed to a stop beside the little car. Rex said something underneath his breath, as he recognized the occupants of the big machine, a Mrs. Lane and her daughter Gertrude, both intimate friends of Miss Peppers. The older woman was very handsome in a stout, florid way, and her daughter was a a lovely picture in a soft-hued gray costume. The latter leaned forward, shaking a finger roguishly

at the red and embarrassed Rex, thought you were dated to play golf with me this morning. She said in a voice that for all its levity held a hint of threat, we will play our fosome this afternoon instead. Rex, his poise regained, raised his hat in an elaborate salute to the young lady. I am grateful, he replied grinning, not only for the favor, but for your forgiveness. Gertrude Lane smiled upon him, gave his companion a sharp look, and the next moment the limousine purred up the road and was soon out of sight. Margie, her cheeks flaming with mortification and wrath, fumbled at the catch of the door, and Rex, humbly enough, opened it for her. She stood at the side of the road, her fists clenched and her eyes blazing.

Who were those people? she asked in a low tone. Oh, just a couple of friends of mine and my respected aunts, he said carelessly. I'm sorry if they annoyed you. Annoyed me, Margie repeated in the same dangerously quiet voice. It is not that they have annoyed me. Oh, if I could tell you what I think of what you have done today. Oh, now I say, cried Rex, his face comical in its expression. of injured innocence.

You act as if this was all my fault. Well, isn't it? Margie flashed at him, and turning walked swiftly down the road. Rex Pepper was out of the car in a moment, and in pursuit, reaching her, he laid his hand on her arm, and in a curiously humble tone, said,

Please don't go off like that. Won't you tell me where you're going? Margie shook the hand from her arm and turned and faced him, saying quietly, I am going to find the nearest train or trolley that will take me back to my employer. Let me take you back, pleaded Rex, but Margie replied coldly, No, thank you. I have trusted you enough for one day. She turned again, and her manner was so finally one of dismissal,

that Rex Pepper stood helplessly in the road and watched her go. He turned then and walked back to the car, hands in pockets, a heavy frown on his face. Margie had not much idea of where she was going or just how she was going to get back to the city, but she remembered having passed a trolley line a short way back, and she made her way toward this. She walked stumblingly, so blinded by humiliation, anger, and anxiety as to what Miss Pepper would think of her, that she scarcely saw the road ahead of her. That Rex Pepper had planned the whole thing, had deliberately misrepresented Miss Pepper's orders to her, she did not now doubt. He had wanted her to ride with him on several occasions, and he had probably

thought this was an easy way to accomplish his wishes. A catish thing to do. She fought with the tears that stung her eyes. He had thought it was smart, probably, a good joke, something he could laugh at afterward. How was he who had never had to want for anything in his life to understand her side of the question, how appreciate the tremendous importance of her position to her. It would have been bad enough if they had not met Mrs. Lane and her daughter. They had thought, no doubt, and from appearances, they had every right to think, that Miss Pepper's secretary had gone riding with her employer's nephew when she should have been busy in her employer's services. The faces of the two women had seemed familiar, and now Margie was able to place them. They had come to Miss Pepper's one day

to attend an informal club meeting, and Margie had noted them chiefly because of the exquisite clothes they wore. She Margie had been present in order to take stenographic notes of the meeting. Oh, yes, they knew who she was, well enough, and because Rex had slighted the girl by breaking an engagement with her, she would be swift to retaliate by means of the weapon in hand. Oh, yes, she would tell Miss Pepper of the meeting. Margie found the trolley line and was fortunate enough to catch a car immediately. The conductor proved to be amiable and talkative, and as there happened to be only one other person besides herself in the car, he explained to her at length just how she could reach the city. It seemed complicated to Margie, for she had to change to another

trolley line before reaching the Long Island Railroad and then to the subway after that, but she was grateful nevertheless for the information. That journey was a nightmare to the girl. She had to wait in terminable periods for cars and trains and all the time the vision of an angered Miss Pepper danced before her eyes. She reached the 33rd Street station at last and darted for the subway, once more on familiar ground. Her progress from then on was gratifyingly swift, compared to the maddening delays she had met with along the line, and it seemed only a short time before the train drew up to her station.

She hurried to the street, but as she approached the palatial home of her employer, her steps lagged. Everything, she told herself, depended on whether Miss Pepper had already heard of her escapade. She used that term because it was undoubtedly the very word Miss Pepper would employ in describing the happenings of the morning. Well, she would go in and brave it out anyway. Perhaps her fears were a good deal worse than the reality would be. He entered the house and was confronted by the superior and impudent maid.

Margie had at first wondered why this young person seemed to have taken such a violent dislike to her. Then, one day, she found out the real reason by accidentally overhearing a conversation between this maid and Miss Pepper's chauffeur. Jane had accused the chauffeur of admiration for the new secretary, and the chauffeur had been unwise enough to admit it. Margie gathered that the maid, Jane, was fond. of the handsome chauffeur and furiously jealous of herself. She had laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing at the time,

for she had felt secure in the good graces of her employer. But now, as she faced the sneering girl, she realized that, innocently enough, she had made a powerful enemy in the household. Miss Pepper came in, said the girl in a malicious tone of triumph, and when she found you had gone riding with Mr. Rex, She went out to lunch. She gave me this note for you. Margie took the note in trembling fingers, and with a cool glance at the girl and a murmured, thank you, turned toward the privacy of the library.

There she opened the note and read the one brief phrase it contained. Report to me tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. Dorkas Pepper! At any other time, Margie would have smiled at the sound of that name, for it seemed so exactly to fit her employer. but just now she was not in a smiling mood. Nine o'clock tomorrow, and it was only one-thirty. Evidently, she had been excused from duty for the rest of that day, at least. Tomorrow she might be excused from duty forever, so far as her present employer was concerned. She left the house, discouraged and forlorn,

and, realizing that some of her fatigue undoubtedly came from lack of nourishment, stopped in a little restaurant and ordered some rolls and tea. Tomorrow morning at 9. And she must wait all that time to know her fate. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. This Liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 18.

Other plumes gone. Margie said nothing of her fears to help. when she reached the apartment. She found the latter hard at work coloring her prints and so happy in the task that she was reluctant to spoil her pleasure. Besides, there was the possibility that she was making too much of the matter. When she explained to Miss Pepper, but she had no chance to explain. Facing her grim employer the following morning, Margie's heart sank. She knew then that there was no hope for her. She had offended. the eccentric woman passed all forgiveness.

Trusted you! Miss Pepper rasped out in her disjointed way. Treated you like friend of family. Allowed you privileges. What did I get for it? Perfidy. Sneaking away with that worthless nephew of mine. Ignoring orders.

Making the Pepper's laughing stock. My nephew and my secretary. Nina Lane can well point finger at me and say, There goes foolish woman who trusted secretary. But Miss Pepper, Margie broke in desperately at this point. You may trust me, you may indeed. The older woman turned on her, her eyes gleaming dangerously. I have witnesses, she snapped.

Women who saw you and nephew, don't make things worse, don't falsify. margie drew herself up regarded miss pepper steadily for a moment you do not have to say that to me miss pepper she said quietly i would not have tried to deceive you without another word she turned and left the room miss pepper looks startled for a moment the expression a strange one on her grim old face she even half rose as if to go after the girl then the hard expression returned and she sank back into her chair. Mo better go, little spitfire. They're all alike, the pretty ones. Like them better cross-eyed. Hook nose.

Oh, bother. Margie fled blindly toward the subway, her one desire to get home where she might give vent to her emotions. Well, the worst had happened. She had been discharged or had discharged herself. It was the same thing.

Miss Pepper would have done it herself in another minute. She thought of Rex Pepper and clenched her fists. Something ought to be done to men like him. It isn't fair. They can have all the fun without paying for it, while I... Oh, well, there was no use railing against fate. The thing for her to do now was to make up her mind what was to be her next move. By the time she had reached home and had fitted the key in the lock, she was quite calm again. There was no chance of keeping the bad news from her sisters any longer. She would have no more money, and she would have to tell them why. Hello, dear. It was Helen's voice, calling cheerfully. Another holiday, Margie? My, but your Miss

Pepper must be a very nice person. Then Margie told her, breaking into a storm of sobbing, despite her determination to do no such thing, Helen comforted her as best she could. As long as you know it was not your fault, she told the weeping girl. You needn't worry, dear. There are other positions, you know, and you may find one that you like much better than this. Yes, said Margie dolefully, sitting up and dabbing at her eyes. I suppose I may. Rose came in sometime later with an expression that was determinedly bright. She too had to be told the bad news. She was gallant about it and painted such alluring, those slangy pictures of Margie's future, that the girls were laughing almost lightheartedly when bedtime came.

But only Rose knew just how much that gallant effort cost her. She had managed to cheer Margie up a little, but how long, she asked herself, would it be before she would have to tell them of her own bad news? Conditions were getting worse and worse at the store. The matter of the plume had blown over, but Mr. Herbert Schoemberg was still openly and actively suspicious. Besides that, several of the girls were jealous of her good looks

and the attention she inevitably attracted and were trying in numerous ways to make life uncomfortable for her, as jealous girls know so well how to do. Her two good friends were Bertie North and Annabelle Black. In spite of the latter's rather loud and boisterous manner, she was a good-natured and generous person, and she admired cozy immensely. She even, at the latter's insistence,

changed her manner toward Bertie North and deigned to recognize her existence. These two made it possible for Rose to continue at the store. If it had not been for them, she would probably have resigned her position, despite the fact that they were so desperately in need of her small income. Meanwhile, Helen had worked hard on the prince, doing her utmost to justify the old art dealer's opinion of her ability.

On the evening after Margie's trouble with Miss Pepper, she submitted her finished work for the girl's inspection. They were genuinely enthusiastic, declaring that if the old gentleman did not like them, they would have their own opinion of him as a critic. Accordingly, Helen started downtown in high hopes the next morning, the bundle of finished prints under her arm. The old gentleman had intimated that there would be more work where that had come from if she lived up to his expectations.

Uttering a little prayer that her work might prove satisfactory, Helen approached the shop on the side street. It had an air of desertion even before she tried the door and found it locked. She tried the door several times, thinking that perhaps it only stuck. After a few moments of trying, she was forced to admit that the little shop really was deserted, the door locked, and the owner gone. No one knew where. She stood there helplessly for a moment, while a flood of disappointment threatened to engulf her. She had counted so much on that money and on the possible future work. What was she to do? She studied the stores on either side of the art

shop. One was a beauty parlor, the other an electrical supply shop. It would do no harm to inquire in one or both of these concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Bullard, perhaps he'd only closed his shop for an hour or two. On the wings of renewed hope, she fairly ran into the electrical supply shop. She inquired eagerly of the pale-faced clerk who approached her, whether he knew anything of the proprietor of the Bullard Art Shop. The youth shook his head in an indifferent negative, but volunteered that the shop had been closed for a, quote, right-smart while. Refusing to acknowledge her growing and terrible disappointment, Helen visited other shops in the neighborhood. Except for slight variations, the information they could give her was all the same.

Mr. Bullard had closed his shop and gone off, on a vacation, probably, and a sensible thing to do in this weather. Completely discouraged, Helen finally returned to the Bullard shop and stood there, looking at its inhospitable exterior, and wondering wearily what she would do next. Suddenly, she thought of Dawson and Davis around the corner, and after a moment of hesitation, decided to seek information regarding the old gentleman's whereabouts from them. Mr. Bullard had been in the store that day when she had shown Mr. Davis her sketches.

It was possible that they might know the old gentleman well and be able to tell her where he had gone and when he might be expected back. But it did not take her long to find, that this hope was doomed to disappointment. Mr. Davis, it seemed, knew the old gentleman rather well. He occasionally bought one of their pictures and was considered quite a connoisseur on art. But why he had shut up his little shop, where he had gone, and when he would be back, he had not the slightest idea. She was turning away in complete discouragement when Mr. Davis,

in an amiable mood, asked to see some of her work. Rather reluctantly, she showed it him and was relieved to see that he seemed impressed. That is rather unusually good, he said, and in spite of her disappointment, Helen felt keen pleasure in the praise. I have an idea of where you may be able to get more work of this sort, if you care for it. If she cared for it, Helen tried not to show how eager she really was as she asked for details. There was a shop, it seemed, not far from there, whose owner, like Mr. Bullard, was looking for someone

who could call her prints satisfactorily. In fact, he had spoken of it that very morning. If the young lady would hurry, in spite of the heat and the weight of the finished prints, Helen hurried. She found the shop without difficulty, but after exhibiting some of her sketches, was told that they considered her work good,

but they had nothing for her at the present time. They might have, later on, and if she would leave her name and address, they would be glad to let her know if any such work turned up. utterly discouraged helen left the place and started for home the reaction of going from hope to bitter disappointment had filled her with a physical nausea made her feel faint and ill what would she do now what could she do she reached the apartment after a nightmare of crowds and subway trains and found margie there before her returning after an unsuccessful round of place-seeking it's about the worst time in the year to look at it's about the worst time in the year to look for anything to do, Margie confided to her elder sister, as the two girls said about the work

of dinner getting. Business isn't so brisk in the hot weather, and so many people are away on vacations that everything is all mixed up. If I could afford to wait till fall, Helen had hoped to hide her own misfortune from her sisters, but Margie had spied the bundle of finished prints before she had the opportunity to hide it, and ferreted it out the explanation. Anyway, Helen said, with forced cheerfulness, It isn't as bad as if I had no hope of new work to do. I may hear from that new place in a few days, and by that time, perhaps Mr. Bullard will be back.

For several days, while Helen tried to touch up her old sketches and things went from bad to worse for Rose at the Lossar Martin Department store, Margie haunted the employment agencies in search of a position. She found one at last, but the pay was poor, and Margie knew from the start that she would find the work horribly dull and tedious. Still, it was a position, and it meant at least a slight relief from their terrible money troubles. As the days went by, Margie became more and more discouraged with her new position. Her employer was an unpleasant, critical fellow, who seemed to think it foolish to utter a word of praise for work well done, no matter how much Margie tried, it seemed that she could not please him.

And if he would only stop smoking those horrible black cigars. Margie even dreamed of those cigars, and with every passing day, grew to dread more the heavy smoke-filled atmosphere of the office. Mr. Carter himself became so repulsive to her. She could not bear to have him come near her. There were moments during his almost continual criticism of her work, when she had a wild desire to start throwing things about the office. If only work were not so heartbreakingly hard to find.

One day, in desperation, she decided to write Miss Pepper and tell her the truth about her ride with Rex. She did so, and, for a week, waited hopefully for a reply. When, at the end of that time, Miss Pepper had still taken no notice of her letter, she gave up any hope she might have had of reinstatement in her. her former position. I wish I hadn't written, she told herself hotly, fighting back tears of humiliation.

She probably doesn't believe a word I say, and I only have lowered my pride for nothing. Oh, it's a perfectly horrid old world. Although Margie said little about her new position and nothing at all about her unhappiness in it, Helen began gradually to sense that something was wrong. Margie was not looking. well. She had lost her lovely color, and her dark eyes seemed dull and lifeless. She came home

night after night, complaining of headache. It's those perfectly dreadful cigars, Mr. Carter smokes, she told her sister, when Helen commented sympathetically and anxiously upon the frequent headaches. If you could see them in the smoke, he manages to get out of them, you would only wonder I can breathe at all. While Margie continued to struggle on in her unpleasant position, things began to happen to Rose in the Lossar Martin department store. Miss O'Brien came bustling up to her one morning, looking worried and harassed, and said in a voice from which the usual snap was missing, I wonder if you would go to the office on an errand for me. The girl has disappeared, and I have a large new order to report. It is impossible to go myself,

and I'll go, of course, Rose agreed readily, and accepting a printed slid. from Miss O'Brien made off in the direction of the office. She performed the errand satisfactorily, and it was some little time after she had returned to her counter before she noticed that something was wrong. There had been four beautiful crimson plumes on her showcase when she had left the counter at Miss O'Brien's request. Now there was only one.

She made guarded inquiries of Bertie and Annabel as to whether any of those plumes had been sold during her absence, both replied in the negative. Rose was cold with fright as she faced this new problem. What had become of those plumes? Certainly she had not taken them, and there could have been no one near enough to her counter to have slipped them out when she was not looking. It might have happened, of course, during that time when she was forced to leave her post, but one thing was quite sure. She would have to report the loss to Mr. Schoenberg, and What then?

End of chapter 18. Chapter 19 of the Blythe girls, Helen Margie and Rose. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 19. Suspected. Rose felt she would almost as soon have put her hand in a hot flame as to have approached Herbert Schaumburg on such a matter. There was no doubt but that considering his former suspicions of her, he would think her guilty.

Suddenly, she flung her head up with a defiant gesture. They would think her guilty, but it still remained for them to prove her guilt. And they could not do that. With that thought to strengthen her and give her courage, Rose quakingly approached Mr. Schaumburg and asked him in a low tone if she might have a word with him. Mr. Schoenberg glanced at her sharply and immediately drew her into a comparatively secluded corner. If you have anything to say to me, say it quickly, commanded the fellow in his usual domineering manner,

and Rose suddenly felt all her fear of him changed to an intense hatred. Her anger steadied her, and she said in a voice whose coolness astonished herself, I have something very important to report, Mr. Schoenberg. Three of our most valuable plumes have disappeared from the counter. Mr. Schoenberg glared at her for a moment in a terrible silence, then said in a freezing tone. Are you quite certain those plumes have not been sold, Miss Blythe? Absolutely certain, returned Rose, giving him stare for stare.

I went to the office for a few moments. And you were going to the office again, he cut in icily. To explain the mystery of those missing plumes, this is not the first time such a thing has happened, and I think I need not remind you, Miss Blythe. Rose turned away, not trusting herself to reply, and went straight to the office. She marched in, head held high,

and stood before Mr. Beetle, the assistant manager. The latter looked up, regarding her near-sightedly through his thick-lensed glasses. He was a small, thin man with a nervous habit of rubbing his eyeglasses when anything troubled or annoyed him. Ordinarily, he was good-tempered and kindly enough, but at this moment he seemed to rose

to rival the ogres of the fairy tales. Well, what did you want? He asked, his tone slightly impatient. I'm very busy, as you can see. Rose told him then, swiftly. Her face was hot and her mouth dry with excitement, but her eyes were frank and steady as she met the near-sighted ones of Mr. Beetle.

The latter's expression became very grave as she proceeded, and he fidgeted nervously with his glasses. This is unfortunate. Very unfortunate, Miss Blythe, he said, querulously, as Rose finished and, like a prisoner at the bar awaiting her sentence. It's not the first time. Such a thing has happened, and while we were inclined to consider the first occurrence a sales error,

we cannot do the same with this one. He touched a bell and a girl appeared. Ask Mr. Schoenberg to come here, he ordered, and Rose's heart sank within her. The floor walker appeared almost immediately. He glared at Rose for a moment, then turned his attention to the other man. You sent for me, sir, he said.

This loss of three valuable plumes has been reported to you, the little man shot at him. What do you think of it? Mr. Schoenberg looked slightly taken aback, but he recovered immediately. I think it is more than mysterious, he said, with a significant glance at Rose. If you will permit me saying so, sir, I should say that it was suspicious. What did you mean by that? cried the harassed Mr. Beetle. Speak out, man, speak out. I have no patience with beating about the bush.

Mr. Schoenberg did not actually speak out and say that he thought Rose was responsible for the missing plumes, but he succeeded in making his meaning as clear as if he had used the precise words, and seemed to take pleasure in making the veiled accusation. Mr. Beetle favored him with a long, searching stare, which he bore with equanimity, then turned again to Rose. this is more serious than appeared to me at first miss blythe he said i am sorry but we will have to have your locker searched rose flushed crimson but drew herself up proudly i am perfectly willing she replied they waited rose sitting stiffly upright in a chair mr beadle after giving the necessary orders for the search fiddling unhappily with his glasses of the three mr schoenberg was the only one who showed no concern In a few moments, one of the store detectives entered the office and said something in a low-toned Mr. Beetle.

The latter turned with a relieved air toward Rose, though his face was still anxious and worried. Mr. Manning tells me he has found nothing but your own personal belongings in your locker, he said, and hesitated, looking at her simple one-piece dress with a critical eye. Rose guessed what he was thinking, that it was barely possible she had the plumes about her person, and this was the last thing necessary to make her humiliation complete. After that, she listened in a sort of dazed misery while Mr. Beetle read her a lecture on carelessness and hinted that serious consequences might result

if any other such mistakes were made. They released her at last, and Rose, crushing her hat fiercely over her pretty hair, dashed out into the street. Her one thought was to get away, anywhere, where she might be alone with her humiliation. End of Chapter 19. Chapter 20 of the Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose.

This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 20, Margie is sick. Because her eyes were blinded by tears, Rose bumped into Joe Morris without recognizing him. With a muttered apology, she started to walk on when someone caught her arm and a hearty voice, said, say, what have I done to you, Rose? Aren't you going to say hello? Then Rose saw that it was Joe, and with an effort, steadied her trembling lips. I'm sorry, she stammered. I wasn't seeing anything just then. There was sympathy in Joe's glance, as he took her arm and gently led her toward the corner. Something has just about knocked you out, he said anxiously. Aren't you going to tell me

about it, Rose? The girl hesitated. At the moment, she was not anxious to talk to anybody, even Joe. She wanted to be alone. I must get back, she said in a low tone, not meeting his eyes. I have just time to snatch a bite of lunch. Capital, that happens to be my predicament too, exclaimed Joe, with his incurable optimism. I know a slick little place right around the corner. Suppose we go there and diet on ham and eggs.

Rose submitted to the inevitable. and before they had reached the restaurant she was glad that Joe had come along, glad that there was someone who liked her and still believed in her, to whom she could tell her troubles. Over the ham and eggs, she told him just how conditions were at the store, told him, while he clenched his fists angrily, of the insinuations of Herbert Schoenberg that she had been guilty of theft. The rotten hound, he growled, adding as he leaned eagerly toward Rose,

Will you point this fellow out to me some time if I come to the store, Rose? Rose hesitated, looking at his ardent young face and clenched fists. You wouldn't fight him, she asked, and Joe laughed shortly. Probably not in just the way you mean, he said. Though I might do that under pressure. I don't mind admitting that it would give me one of the most joyful half hours of my life, but honestly, Rose, he added gravely. What you have told me of this chapter,

interests me. I would like an opportunity to size him up and keep an eye on him. Keep an eye on him? Rose repeated, puzzled. I don't understand. Probably you wouldn't, returned Joe enigmatically, adding with a grin, but I'm willing to bet good money that you will before long. Look here, Rose, those feathers didn't grow legs and walk off by themselves, you know. Rose studied him for a minute, and suddenly her eyes brightened. She even chuckled a little. Behold the great criminal detective Joe Morris, she jived, at which Joe grinned and thanked her for the compliment.

And now listen, Rose, he said, over the ice cream, which he had insisted they have for dessert. What you need is to get your mind off your troubles for a little while. There's a dance down at the Amory tonight, and I was wondering if you'd go with me. thought I would be busy tonight and couldn't go or I would ask you before. I don't feel like it, Joe, Rose pleaded, the tears welling to her eyes again as she looked at him across the table. It's lovely of you to ask, but...

Now listen here. Joe became suddenly forceful, and Rose remembered afterward that she had liked him that way exceedingly. You haven't got the right idea at all. Because you don't feel like it is the best argument for you going. It's going to be a classy shindig, and, well, I'd like to show off the prettiest girl I know. This compliment, together with a great deal more persuasion, finally decided Rose to go to the dance, but only on condition that her sisters went, too. Joe was very glad to have them and said he knew two mighty nice fellows who would be tickled to death at the chance of showing them around. Almost in spite of herself, Rose felt cheered when she returned to the store.

After all, it was not such a completely bad world if it held such pleasant things as armory dances. When, later that afternoon, Joe dropped in and stopped at the millinery trimmings counter to buy a tiny cluster of velvet flowers, ostensibly. Rose was not surprised. When no one was looking, she pointed out Schoenberg and was thrilled to hear Joe mutter beneath his breath. I thought so. Just a kind of chap I had in mind. He had to go then, hastily, for Schoenberg was bearing down upon them with disapproval in his eye,

but Rose felt comforted. For some reason, she had great confidence in Joe's ability to straighten things out for her. When Rose first suggested the dance to Helen, the latter declared emphatically that she couldn't go. She hadn't the thing to wear. You have two, Rose flatly contradicted. How about that beaded white dress? About five years old What difference does that make?

Rose insisted. No one will be at the dance tonight who's ever seen it before. Wait a minute, I have an idea. She fairly flew into Helen's room and the older sister followed her curiously. Rose caught up the white dress from the closet, rummaged in a drawer for a moment,

upsetting it hopelessly, and drew forth in triumph a bit of flesh-colored chiffon. Now put it on, she ordered, holding out the dress to Helen. By the time I've draped this veil around you and added a pink rose, you won't know yourself, to say nothing of the dress. Now then. Helen slipped the dress over her head, frankly interested now,

and Rose bent her bright head over the work of artistically draping the veil. She really did it very well, and when she had added the pink rose from a collection of such pretty ornaments, even skeptical Helen had to admit that her work was good. You lovely thing, cried the younger girl, hugging her sister without regard to the fragility of the Rose. You will be the bell of the ball, I know you will. And before Helen could protest again that they really shouldn't go to the dance at all, Rose was out of the room and looking through her own limited wardrobe to find something that she could wear.

It was rather discouraging business, but she decided at last upon a blue organdy that might be made to do if it were neatly pressed. When Margie came home a short time later, she found her sisters flying around excitedly getting dinner. She was immediately pounced upon by Rose, who, in one long sentence, told her the joyful news. But I have nothing to wear, she began. Rose clapped a hand over her mouth and led her in triumph to the room Margie shared with Helen. There on the bed was a dainty, cream-colored Vual Frock. Not new, to be sure, but carefully pressed by Rose's nimble fingers.

It masqueraded quite successfully as a party frog. Rose's enthusiasm was infectious, and as they flew about getting dinner and clearing it away and helping each other dress, the color began to come back to Margie's pale face, and she looked more like herself than she had for many a day. And when Joe, in company with the two young men of whom he had spoken so highly, drove up for them in a taxi cab,

it seemed to the sisters as though their cup of enjoyment was full to overflowing. Joe Morris brought the other two young fellows up to the apartment and introduced them with a great deal of mock ceremony. This is Roy Reynolds, he said of a tall, dark, good-looking chap. He looks like a bank robber, but he's really quite a respectable bond salesman. Bond salesmen are never respectable, drawled Roy Reynolds and made his way over to Helen's side, where, it may be mentioned here, he was to remain pretty steadily for the rest of the evening. The other young man was introduced as Lloyd Roberts, and, later during the drive to the armory, Margie learned to her surprise that he was a brother of one of the girls who worked in the office across from hers.

This bond of coincidence naturally made their acquaintance easy from the start. After this auspicious beginning, how could they help but have the time of their lives? The Blythe girls became instantly popular, and their escorts were heard to complain more than once that they wished some of these stags had stayed at home where they belonged. The dance floor was good, the music the best of its kind, and, caught in the world of enjoyment, the girls realized for the first time how hungry they had been for dancing and good times. Oh, I don't want to go home! wailed Rose to Joe Morris,

as the band swung into the suggestive strains of Home Sweet Home. That's the very worst of dances, she added complainingly, as though it were all Joe's fault, they always come to an end. Rose found her two sisters no less reluctant to go home than she, but as everyone else was doing it and the band was already dispersing, there seemed little else to do. I'm coming again, said Lloyd Roberts, smiling down at Margie, as he said goodnight to her at the door of her apartment a little later. If you won't let me come alone, I can always bring Betty as an excuse. My, but I'm glad you know my sister. sister. So am I, replied Margie, demurely. Betty Roberts is a lovely girl. When the boys had

finally left them and they had let themselves into the apartment, Rose suddenly included both sisters in an ecstatic hug. Now you two old grumblers, aren't you glad I made you go? She cried. Fess up now, wasn't it fun? It was fun, and that good time resulted in others for the girls, though they were forced to refuse many invitations showered upon them because they had not the money with which to buy the clothes necessary for parties and dances. However, they did invite the young folks up to the apartment and the tiny living room became gay with the fun and laughter of the boys and girls. Annabel Black became a frequent visitor at the Blythe apartment,

and Bertie North came whenever her invalid mother could spare her. Although the latter never took much part in the hilarity all about her, She seemed to enjoy herself thoroughly. Her devotion to Rose increased until the two girls became very nearly inseparable. At this time, the Blythe girls could have been very happy if all had been well with them financially,

but all was not well with them. The grim specter of want dogged their footsteps, drawing a black cloud across the sunniest sky and keeping them continually anxious and worried. Then, when things seemed the darkest for the artist of the family. There came a feeble ray of light in the shape of a note

from the proprietor of the art shop to which Mr. Davis had sent her on the day when she found the Bullard art shop deserted. The note informed her that the proprietor had a small order which he would be glad to have her take over if she would do so at that time. Helen immediately hurried down to the store and found that the order was a very small one indeed.

It would hardly be a drop in the financial bucket of the Blythe family. however helen had reached the point where if she could not have the whole loaf she was quite grateful for the crumbs she accepted the small bundle of prints promising to have them done in a few days leaving the shop she went around to the bullard store hoping to get in touch with the proprietor but the shop was still locked up its deserted look seemed to mock her strange that he should have gone away like that she thought as she wearily descended the little locked up its deserted look seemed to mock her strange that he should have gone away like that she thought as she wearily descended the stairs into the subway. He must have known that I would be coming back before long. He might at least have let me know. I gave him my address. Perhaps, and her heart sank as she uttered the possibility, he's gone away for good. Perhaps he doesn't intend to come back again. In another week, the problem as how to meet expenses became really acute. The rent of the apartment was so high that when that obligation was met, there was scarcely sufficient

left to feed them for a month, and none at all for clothes. But Helen's chief source of worry was Margie's health. The girl had no appetite, though she forced herself to eat enough to keep her alive and enable her to go on with her work. She became painfully thin, and the shadows under her dark eyes made Helen's heart ache. Margie should go to a doctor, and she'd go to a doctor, That Helen knew, but how to pay a doctor's bill. She remembered a tonic that her father had used and found extremely beneficial and spent one of her much-needed dollars in the purchase of a bottle. Margie's eyes had filled with tears at the side of it

when she realized how hard it was for them to spare the money, but she resolutely took the bitter stuff. It did not help her, however. She continued to lose weight, and the shadows deepened and dark, darkened beneath her eyes. For some time passed, Margie had had reason to believe that her employer was not doing well financially. If this were so, it accounted perhaps for the fact that Mr. Carter's manner became increasingly morose and unpleasant. His nagging and fault-finding became more and more unbearable. Then, one morning, after Margie had been taking dictation

steadily for over an hour in the smoke-filled office, she was suddenly a tally. She was suddenly a by a terrifying dizziness. She rose to her feet, made instinctively for the window, and halfway to it, saw the world go suddenly black before her eyes. The solid floor gave way beneath her feet. Red light swam before her darkened vision, and she floated gently downward through eternities of space. From a great distance, she heard a voice saying irritably, How, what do you think you're doing?

then nothingness. By, cricky, ejaculated Mr. Carter, staring at the limp form at his feet. If that girl isn't the limit, say, as he leaned down for closer and somewhat startled inspection, looks like she was dead. End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose.

This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 21 Facing Want When Mr. Carter found out his mistake and saw Margie slowly flutter back to consciousness, his relief was equalled only by his fear that the next time this happened, she might really die. He certainly could not afford to have anyone dying in his office. It would be unthinkable. So he gave Margie a weak salary in advance and sent her home in a taxi cab. for good. Betty Roberts, the girl who worked in the office across the hall from Margie, and who, with her brother

Lloyd, had been a frequent visitor at the Blythe apartment, went home in the cab with Margie. Betty was a slight, appealing blonde who saw life in superlatives. She was using some of these superlatives now in ruthless condemnation of Margie's late employer. It's the worst thing I ever heard of, Margie, the very worst, she stormed. as she rubbed Margie's hand between her plump little ones. I never heard of such a thing, dismissing a girl because she fainted. And this, and in this heat, too, it's only a wonder we don't all of us faint. I wish he would, the horrid old thing.

Margie smiled faintly at this vehemence, but at heart she was completely discouraged. She was a failure all around, she decided. First, she had managed to make a muddle of her position with Miss Pepper, and now this and oh how ill she felt how faint and all gone and utterly useless she began to cry suddenly from sheer weakness and the good-hearted Betty wiped her eyes with her own handkerchief and soothed her hair and said dreadful things about Mr. Carter they arrived home at last and with Betty's help Margie toiled up the unending flights of stairs to the apartment Helen met them at the door her face is white as Margie's own Betty kept up a running fire of philosophic comments on the beastliness of the business world in general and of the Mr. Carter's who run it, while Helen silently and efficiently put Margie to bed. She pulled down the shade and, coming back, bent over the relaxed girl. Margie's eyes were closed and her curling lashes were startlingly black against the pallor of her face. Her mouth, pale too, was as tremulous as a child. Helen bent down and kissed her gently. Just rest now, little sister, she whispered. I'm going to make you some lovely chicken broth.

Just keep thinking of it and how good it's going to taste. Margie put her arms around Helen's neck and hugged her tight for a moment, then turned over with a deep sigh, burrowing her head into the pillow. The next morning, Margie was very sick. In alarm, Helen called the physician who had attended. birdie North's mother for a long time. Rose was so worried that she stayed at home from the store to hear the doctor's verdict. The latter arrived about noon, a kindly gray-haired old gentleman who told them that Margie was

suffering from a complete nervous breakdown. She must be kept very quiet, given a diet of nourishing and temptingly prepared food, and, above all things, she must not be allowed to worry. I imagine he looked keenly at the two anxious girls. That worry is the real cause of her trouble, combined with overwork. Oh, it sounds so easy, cried Rose bitterly, after he had gone. All he has to say is do this and do that, but you notice no one ever bothers to tell us how we are going to do these things?

Oh, I wish Joe Morris were here. Why, how could Joe help us? asked Helen, startled out of her, unhappy reverie. I don't know, returned Rose moodily, adding with a wistful half-smile. Only Joe seems to have a way of fixing things. During the day that followed, the howls of the wolf grew louder about the door

of the tiny apartment. Helen, leaving her patient to the care of a kindly neighbor, on several occasions, rode downtown, visiting every art store she could find in the hope of securing new work. She got some at last. A week before Margie's sickness, the amount that the art dealer promised to pay her for the work,

would have seemed princely to Helen. Now, with nourishing and tempting dainties to be bought for the invalid and doctor's bills mounting up, it seemed only a drop in the bucket. Upon one of his visits, Dr. Marland looked Helen over professionally and offered a word of advice. If you don't let upon your own nerves, my dear child, he told her in his fatherly way,

I'm afraid you will soon find yourself where your sister is now. This prophecy filled Helen with terror. She had a vision of poor Rose trying to take care of two invalids, and at the same time hold her position at the department store, and this pitiful vision did more to strengthen her nerve and resolution than any tonic could have done. She would not get sick. She could not. She could not have told when a...

a new anxiety concerning Rose crept into her mind. The girl never said much concerning her work at the store, but when she was questioned, invariably answered that everything was fine. But for the last few days, she had been moody and silent, and once, when Helen had asked if she did not feel well, she snacked out at her quite sharply. Of course, the next moment she repented and humbly begged her sister's pardon, but, try as she would, Helen could not forget the incident. Rose was unhappy in her work, things were not going well. What she had at first vaguely suspected, gradually became a certainty. Rose's happy good nature was a thing of the past. She showed only a forced interest in things that went on around her, and this attitude was so foreign to her

joy-craving nature that Helen became acutely worried. She usually, avoided questioning her sisters, for she had a dread of forcing confidences, but one night she could stand the suspense and uncertainty concerning Rose no longer. The two girls were sitting in the living room. Helen busily darning a hole in one of her silk stockings, Rose moodily skimming the headlines of the newspaper. Margie, who was sitting up every day now, and for increasingly longer intervals, had gone to bed a short time before, complaining of a slight headache. so Helen and Rose were alone. It was Helen who suddenly leaned over and put a hand on the younger girl's arm.

Can't you tell me what the trouble is, dear? she asked. Rose, taken by surprise, looked up to see the tenderness in Helen's eyes, made a desperate attempt to hold on to her silence, and suddenly blurted out the truth. The situation was far worse than Helen had imagined, and for a long time she sat with her arms about the, younger girl, trying to think things out. At last, she said gently, I would advise you to leave the store at once, dear, and look for another position. But that would be rather like running away,

wouldn't it? Rose looked up and studied her sister's face for a moment. I wouldn't get a very good recommendation, she said at last. An instant later, she cried with sudden wrath, and I would like to stay and fight the thing out. I despise people who run away. I'll find out who's taking those things from my counter if it kills me. Meanwhile, Margie was slowly getting stronger. She had responded to the rest treatment and menu of delicacies provided by Helen. Then too, Lloyd Roberts had been attentive to Margie during her convalescence. He had called frequently at the apartment, bringing books and magazines, candy and flowers. Today, he had drawn. dropped in on his way home and had brought with him a box from the florists and a pound box of candy as well.

Lloyd, you really shouldn't, Margie told him, as she took off the cover of the box and discovered a dozen roses. These must have cost you a fortune. But, oh, aren't they beautiful? Lloyd Roberts smiled down at her, looking very handsome as he did so. I don't hear you enthusing so much about the candy, he suggested. and Margie made a laughing face at him. It's not quite as beautiful, she told him gravely, but I love it just as much. Rose, released from bondage at the store and arriving home just after young Roberts had left,

gazed at the gorgeous bouquet of red roses on the table, and from them to Margie's face, which was almost as rosy as the flowers. Then she spied the candy and lost little time in helping herself to some of it. Lloyd must be rich or else he doesn't care what he does with his money, she said, adding with a sigh of utter dejection as she thank into a chair. My, but I am tired. What are they doing down at the corner? asked Helen, at the window. There have been explosions all morning, and one of them shook the pictures on the wall.

They're blasting for that new row of buildings they're going to put up, replied Rose, disinterestedly, and relapsed into a gloomy reverie. After a while, Helen invited them both into the dining room, and there they saw, outspread upon the table, Helen's finished work, the last set of prints she had had to color. Oh, they're lovely, cried Margie, in genuine admiration. The best you've yet done, old thing, added Rose slangily. I don't see how you can get the sky and hills and the trees blended so beautifully. Goodness, what's that?

the sound of an explosion reverberated deafeningly in their ears. There was a ripping, cracking, rending sound, and it seemed to the girls as if the earth were descending upon them. End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. This Liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 22. After the explosion.

Down came the ceiling of the room upon the three Blythe girls, covering them with plaster and debris. A descending slab struck Helen and hurled her to the floor. There she lay for a moment, half stunned. Margie and Rose were more frightened than hurt, and after a stupefied moment they ran to Helen's assistance. Helen, you aren't hurt, cried Rose as she saw the dazed look in her sister's eyes. Margie, trembling with excitement and fright, knelt down beside Helen and began chafing her hands vigorously. It's that horrible old blasting, Rose cried. I've a good mind to go out there and tell those men what I think of them.

Her vehemence roused Helen, who sat up and tried to smile. I'm all right, she protested, wasn't hurt a bit. Suddenly, her gaze became fixed upon the table and froze into a horrified stare. Girls, look there, she wailed. My work! Oh, my lovely work! The girls followed the direction of her shaking finger and cried out in dismay. The colored prints, the best work she had done and the result of many days of hard work, were covered under a massive plaster. Helen was on her feet, roused for once in her life to a fierce anger. It's an outrage! She cried, rushing to the table and trying in vain to rescue some of the precious work.

They're completely ruined. I... Oh, somebody shall suffer for this. Rose was at her side, shaking her excitedly by the arm. I know what to do, she cried. Listen to me, Helen, won't you? For Helen was still distractedly trying to rescue some of the pictures. That man downstairs, Rose hurried on. That Mr. Draper, or whatever his name is,

He's a lawyer. How do you know that? asked Helen, turning to her, her eyes bright, her lips set in a straight line. Oh, I don't know. Somebody told me, returned Rose impatiently, adding, as she turned toward the door, shall I ask him to come up? No, please don't, replied Helen. I will go and see Mr. Draper myself. It never occurred to her until after she had left the apartment and was on her way downstairs that in all probability Mr. Draper was downtown, attending to his clients. Luck was with her, however, for the young lawyer had just returned from his office and had stretched himself out in an

easy chair for a quiet afternoon of reading. He also had been alarmed and annoyed by the explosion and was saying something uncomplimentary under his breath about the construction company when Helen's ring sounded through the apartment. He abandoned his book reluctantly and sauntered toward the door. All his annoyance vanished at the sight of his visitor, and he invited her in with the greatest courtesy. But Helen would not go in. Instead, she gave him a brief sketch of the happenings in her apartment, and invited him up there to see for himself the extent of the damage. Hugh Draper readily accompanied her, for he remembered the lovely, dreamy-eyed girl whose package he had carried upstairs one warm day, and had more than once wondered if that

courtesy was sufficient to permit of his calling upon the girl. Now Chance had come to his aid and had furnished a real excuse for continuing the acquaintanceship. Hugh Draper was inclined to alter his opinion of the construction company. However, he was genuinely indignant when he saw the damaged ceiling in the dining room, the ruined rug, and the spoiled prints on the table. And when Rose told him also that Helen had been struck by a piece of falling plaster, he vowed that the construction company should be made to pay and pay well for its carelessness if he had any say in the matter. Then you will take it up for us? asked Helen, a few minutes later as she accompanied him

to the door. I am very grateful indeed to be able to do anything to help you, the young lawyer responded, and Helen wondered for a moment why the look in his gray eyes made her so extraordinarily happy. The happiness died away, however, as she turned from the door. Hugh Draper might make the construction company pay eventually, but what were the Blythe girls going to do in the meantime? That was the question. She had counted on the money from the pictures to help pay the doctor's bill. Now, instead, she would probably be required by the art dealer to pay for the ruined prints. Oh, if only I had someone to help. help us out now, she cried to herself, sobbingly.

I don't, oh, I don't know what to do. At the store, Rose came gradually to suspect Herbert Schaumburg of pilfering goods from her counter. It was suspicion only, there was no act on Schaumburg's part of which she could complain to Mr. Beetle, but she noticed that he sent her on little errands, errands that in themselves were humiliating. She had not entered the employee of Lossar Martin as an errand girl, but Herbert Schoenberg seemed at times unaware of that fact.

Then one day after she had been absent from her counter for a considerable time on one of these errands, she missed some valuable moray ribbons. She reported the fact at once and was again forced to face the agitated Mr. Beatle in his office. You are certainly guilty of gross carelessness if nothing else, Miss Blythe. he told her at the end of a humiliating interview. We will be content to take this out of your pay this month, but if anything of the kind happens again, I fear you will be asked to sever your connection with the store.

Sever her connection with the store! How gladly she would have done so, and of her own accord, had conditions been otherwise at home. How gladly she would have flung her position in the face of her employers. She no longer cared particularly to vindicate herself. All she wanted was release from an intolerable position. If Margie could only gain strength and find work. If Helen could only get more artwork.

If, if, if, always if, she thought drearily. There was no way out of her predicament, none. She must simply stay and brave it out. She continued to see Joe Morris frequently, and they formed the habit of occasionally lunching together. at a small Italian restaurant where food was excellent in prices low. Rose found relief in pouring out her troubles to the sympathetic Joe, but recently she had been puzzled and somewhat hurt by a seeming reluctance on his part

to discuss her troubles at the store. Maybe I bore him, or perhaps he thinks I'm just imagining things, she thought. Anyway, he certainly acts that way. And being a proud girl, she decided no longer to force her. confidences upon him. Joe did not seem to notice her silence on the subject, and, except for an occasional and apparently careless question concerning the doings and habits of Herbert Schoenberg, he never referred to it himself. So Rose was completely taken by surprise one day, when Joe Morris pushed and elbowed his way through the crowded aisles of the store and leaned over her counter.

What are you doing here? she asked him, almost severely, for she had caught science. of the floor walker in the distance, and was afraid Joe's presence would only complicate matters. I've got to see the manager, whispered Joe, and there was a suppressed excitement in his voice that thrilled Rose in spite of herself. Can you get me a line on how to reach the old boy at once without attracting any undue attention? Luckily, Rose saw Mr. Beetle emerge from his office at that moment and start toward the elevators. There's the assistant manager, whispered Rose. If you hurry, you may be able to catch? Joe did not wait for her to finish the sentence. He was off like a shot through the crowd in the wake of the nervous Mr. Beetle. Rose watched him and saw him reach Mr. Beetle and

turned back with that gentleman toward his office. They disappeared together and Rose drew a long breath. Now, what do you suppose is the meaning of that? she asked herself, ignoring for the moment the insistent demands of a very stout lady in a very tight purple frock. Then, seeing Mr. Schoenberg bearing down upon her with the light of battle in his eye, she hastily turned to the irate customer, placating her with a dazzling smile. Who was that fellow? Rose looked up from giving the purple lady her change and encountered the suspicious gaze of Herbert Schoenberg. Friend of mine, she answered briefly, and immediately turned her attention to the clamoring demands of the next customer.

Schoenberg flushed an angry red, opened his mouth as though to say something, then shut it tight again in a thin, wrathful line. Say, Posey, but you must like flirting with your job. It was the voice of the flamboyant Annabelle in her ear. Oh, Schoenberg has got it in for you or my name ain't what it used to be. Keeping one eye on Herbert Schoenberg and the other on the office, into which Joe and Mr. Beetle had disappeared, Rose waited on her customers in a daze.

If they were given the right change or the right article, it was more due to luck than any attention on her part. After a while, she saw Joe come out of the office alone and caught her breath in anticipation. He would come over to her, at least, give her a hint of what it was all about. But in this supposition, she was disappointed. Her heart sank as she saw Joe turn away

and make hurriedly for the stairs. Anyway, he would be sure to be waiting for her when she came out. But he was not, and Rose was conscious of a mingling of emotions as she rode uptown in the inevitable business crush. Chief among them was exasperation at Joe. What right had he to get her all excited, then make no explanation of his peculiar actions? Well, the next time she saw him, she would tell him a thing or two.

As she entered the apartment, Helen held out an envelope, to her. I found this pushed under the door, she explained. I don't know who left it, but the writing on the envelope looks like Joe Morris's. With eager fingers, Rose opened the note. She pulled out a sheet of paper over which was scrawled hastily. Keep your eyes open. In a day or two, I will ask you to compliment me on my ability in detecting crime. Just sit tight and watch. Joe. End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. This Livervox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 23. Mystery Meanwhile, Margie felt so much improved in health that she declared herself ready to look for another position. Helen protested and begged her to wait until the hot weather was over, but Margie, knowing the true state of finances at home, was stubborn in her determination not to be a burden to her sisters one moment longer than necessary. However, she swiftly found that her strength had not yet fully returned and that her sense of well-being had been deceptive. After a day or two of the dreary rounds of employment agencies and cluttered offices,

she was forced to yield to Helen's plea that she be sensible and not over-exert her until her strength and the cooler weather had returned i'm just no good to anybody she told herself bitterly i thought i was so strong and so capable and now look at me not able to do as much as rose who looks as if she would float away if you puffed hard at her she thought once more of writing to miss pepper but her pride would not let her do that her one letter had remained unanswered and that was affront enough had she known that miss pepper had left town short after she had dismissed her secretary from her employ, and had never received the letter, Margie might have felt very differently about a second attempt, but she did not know. It had gotten so desperate with Helen that, after paying a little on the doctor's bill and reimbursing the art dealer for his ruined prints, she had scarcely enough left in the budget to provide the scantiest of meals for the week. She hid her terrible anxiety from her sisters

as best she could, going about all day with a smiling face, and only at night giving way a little to her fears for the future. Hugh Draper had called once, after his promise of assistance, and once again Helen was conscious of that queer contentment in his presence. He told her that he was camping on the trail of the construction company and confidently promised results in a few days. But, thought Helen, in the meantime, and then suddenly out of a clear sky or rather a clouded one things began to happen many things it began with rose the latter indignant as she was with joe for making no attempt to see her and explain his note and expecting any minute that he would so explain was too absorbed in her own thoughts and conjectures to notice that mr schoemberg's enmity toward her was assuming a more definite form once or twice in conversation with her he had practically accused her of purloining the store's goods and this in the hearing of her associates once bertie north had resented the insinuation fiercely

and if mr schaumburg had not been completely taken aback by this assault from an unexpected quarter he would probably have discharged her then and there as it was his manner toward her became so openly hostile that it began to look as though both she and rose would be out of a position before the end of the week. Then came the climax. Again, valuable plumes were missing from the millinery department, and this time the situation looked deadly serious for Rose. It began to seem that the severing of her connection with the Losar Martin Company was the least that would happen to her. The store was in an uproar.

At least that portion of it affected by this new and exciting development, there were those unfriendly to Rose, who gathered in groups, and declared that now that Uppy Rose Blythe would get all that was coming to her. Rose, white and shaken, believed that they were right. In a daze she followed the Sardonic Schoemberg toward the assistant manager's office. The way ought to be very familiar to me by this time, she thought bitterly. I've trodden it often enough. Schoemberg stopped suddenly, and Rose saw that,

that a man had come up to him. Her heart fairly stopped beating as she recognized one of the store detectives. Clerks at nearby counters sensed the tense drama of the situation and served their customers with divided attention. The detective, instead of addressing himself directly to the floor-walker, turned to the white and quaking Rose. We found one of the plumes in your locker, Miss Blythe, he said abruptly. Rose felt the room wheeling about her and the one something that stood out clearly was Schoenberg's face and the sneering expression on it. I knew it, he cried. I suspected this young woman from the first. Now we have the proof. As he uttered the words, Rose tried desperately to think. What did this mean? What would they do to her?

The evidence of this plume in her locker seemed final. They might, oh, they might send her to prison. She felt herself stifling, wanting to cry out wildly for air. It seemed to her that she could feel the detective's hand upon her arm, the hideous grip of the law. Not quite so fast, Mr. Schoenberg! Rose looked up, startled at some unusual quality in the detective's tone. The latter was not looking at her at all. His eyes were as cold as steel as he gazed at the suddenly pale Schoenberg. You want to be a little careful how you accuse anyone. But you have the proof, cried the floor walker, and Rose thought she could detect a hint of panic beneath the bluster of his tone.

You say you found one of the stolen plumes in her locker. Yes, but for all that, she's not the guilty one. Come, Mr. Schoenberg. As Rose watched, dazed and incredulous, the detective put a hand upon the arm of Herbert Schoenberg, and urged him gently toward the elevators. The latter turned a ghastly, greenish-gray and cast a wild glance over his shoulder,

as though contemplating flight. Why, man, you're crazy, he protested in a last attempt at Bluster. It's all a ridiculous mistake. All right, interrupted the detective, his hand tightening on his prisoner's arm. You'll have all the chance you need to tell him about it at headquarters. Will you come along quietly now, or must I?

Rose did not hear the end of this sentence for the reason that the two had disappeared from sight. Evidently, Herbert Schoenberg had decided to go peacefully. Weak and giddy from the reaction from terrible fear, Rose returned to her counter to be met by a volley of excited and eager questions. To all of them, she shook her head dazedly. You know about as much about it as I do, she said, and that was all they could get out of her. It seemed an interminable age, during which Rose went about her business mechanically

before they sent for her at the office. She went in fear and trembling, not trusting yet to her good fortune, half fearing that they had trumped up some new charge against her. But she needed only one glance at the face of the beaming Mr. Beetle to tell her that her fears were groundless. He motioned her to a chair as though she had been a queen, and proceeded to give her his whole attention. attention. He told her then that Joe Morris had been the first to turn suspicion from her to the floor walker himself. On the day that he had consulted with Mr. Beatle, he had told the latter that he had been shadowing Mr. Schoenberg off and on for some time, and only the previous night his efforts had been successful. It seems he had followed the floorwalker to an obscure

millinery shop in a different quarter of the city, and there had seen him dispose of goods that were the property of the Lossar Martin's store, at least so Joe supposed. He had assumed, said Mr. Beetle, that this information would be greatly valued by Lossar Martin, and in that assumption he had been correct. A store detective had been set to watch every movement of Schoenberg, and this time had caught him in the act. But you can thank this Mr. Morris of Eurus for setting us upon the right track, Mr. Beetle finished, as he held out a hand to Rose. If I did not know he was pleasantly and profitably employed elsewhere,

we would offer Joe Morris a position in this store as a detective. And now, my dear young lady, and he fairly beamed upon Rose. We want to apologize for our one-time stupidity in suspecting you, that you may stay with Lossar Martin as long as you wish. Rose went out of the office with her head in the clouds. Joe. Joe Morris had done all this. Mr. Beetle had said that she was to thank him. Would she? Just wait till she saw him. End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of the Blythe girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 24. Margie is forgiven. Rose had not long to wait, leaving the store that,

evening she fairly ran into the arms of her deliverer who was waiting for her outside the employee's entrance oh hello if this isn't our detective himself she greeted him gaily but joe saw as he took her arm and she glanced up at him that there were tears glistening on her long lashes joe joe you are such a trump she added huskily you don't know what you saved me from today Why has anything happened? cried Joe with sudden ferocity, if that Schoemberg guy is bothering you again. Rose laughed a little hysterically. I don't think he will ever bother me after today, she told him, and thereupon launched into the story of the day's happenings, told it hastily, with catches of her breath and gaps in between that Joe must fill out for himself.

But he got the general idea and chuckled with glee at the thought of, of Herbert Schoenberg, the lordly and overbearing, being led away by the head detective. Rose laughed, too, but shakily, and Joe's eyes softened with an understanding of her part in the drama. Poor little kid, he said softly. Must have been pretty hard on you. Oh, I don't care. Rose flung up her head with a gallant laugh. It's all right now. Thanks to you, Joe. Joe blushed with embarrassment, though he liked the way to she said, Joe. What bothers me, he said thoughtfully,

is how that plume found its way into your locker. Of course, he planted it there himself, but he must have been pretty slick crook to be able to get away with that sort of thing. Probably he didn't get away with it, Rose pointed out. I shouldn't wonder if one of the detectives saw him do it, and that gave him the clue. Joe went with her all the way to her apartment,

but in spite of her invitation, refused to go in. I'm going to ask you to do something for me, though, he said. Rose looked up at him inquiringly. Let me come up tomorrow night. Will I? cried Rose. That's a pretty little thing to ask for what you have done for me, Joe Morris. Goodbye until tomorrow, Mr. Detective.

And thank you, Joe. Joe did not reply in words, but Rose was still thinking of the way he had looked at her when she reached the door of her own apartment and opened it with her key. She was about to call exuberantly to the girls, eager to tell them of her exciting day, when she paused uncertainly. She heard a strange voice in the living room, a woman's voice. They had company.

It, the company, she reflected, must be unexpected, since Helen had not mentioned expecting anyone that morning. She tiptoed into her room, took off her hat, and brushed her shining hair carefully. She saw that her eyes were blazing with excitement and that her cheeks were hotly flushed. I wonder who the company is, she thought, as she slowly made her way through the hall toward the voices. Sounds sort of funny, anyway, short and snappy. Poor Helen, I reckon she won't have enough dinner to go around. We probably just have three chops and she'll give the visitors hers.

This reflection brought her to the door of the living room and she peeped within. What she saw there was so amazing that she completely forgot her manners and stood in the doorway staring. There was a little old lady on the couch. A funny-looking little old lady, all dressed in stiff black silk with an eccentric black hat with a willow plume atop her gray hair. She had an arm about Margie and was looking severely from her to Helen and back again. If it had not been for Margie's flushed and happy face and Helen's look of contentment, Rose would have guessed that the interview had been an unpleasant one. The little old lady certainly looked cross enough.

It was the bright eyes of the latter who first discovered Rose standing uncertainly in the doorway. Come in! Come in! she cried imperatively. What an extremely lovely child you are! Over to the light! So, quite, to be sure! Utterly bewildered, Rose looked for help to her two sisters. It was Margie who came to the rescue. This is Miss Pepper, Rose, dear, she said, adding with a happy little laugh, she has decided to forgive me.

Nonsense, utter nonsense, retorted this surprising old person. How could forgive when nothing to forgive? Ridiculous. It's lovely of you to say so, returned Margie. You make me very happy when you say that. Selfish old person, exclaimed Miss Pepper in her disjointed manner. Please myself, always. Missed you, my dear. And she patted Margie's hand with an unusual demonstration of affection. Couldn't get along without you. Ridiculous, but true. Must go now, she cried,

rising with the abruptness that characterized all her actions. Come to me, my dear, when feel able, send Doctor's bill to me. All my fault, everything. Margie went with her all the way down the three flights of steps and out to the curb where her handsome limousine was waiting for her. The girl tried to speak as Miss Pepper got into the car and nodded goodbye, but she could not. In silence, she watched the big car disappear around the corner, then turned swiftly toward the house. A few moments later, she shut the door of the little apartment and stood with her back against it, looking at the girls with brimming eyes. She took a step toward Helen, tried to laugh and sobbed instead and collapsed in a big chair, her head and her arms. That seemed to be the

signal, for as Helen and Rose clung to Margie, they began to cry too, and cried until it struck them all how ridiculous it was to cry for happiness, and then they all began to laugh. It seems like a fairy story, said Margie, wiping her eyes and smiling unsteadily, with me as Cinderella. Miss Pepper seems awfully fond of you, Marge, said Rose after a moment of happy musing. If you did but know it, you are a very lucky girl. I think so, too, admitted Margie. After today. It was at that moment that Rose realized she had forgotten all about her own story, and she immediately launched into it while her sisters listened, astonished and incredulous.

Why, that Schoenberg must be an ogre, cried Margie, finally, unable to contain her indignation. He is, agreed Rose, adding with a chuckle, but it's all right as long as I have a fairy prince. And who is he? Asked Margie, with a look of feigned severity. Rose opened wide eyes at her. Why don't you know?

She asked. His name is Joe Morris, of course. End of Chapter 24. Chapter 25 of the Blythe Girls, Helen Margie. and Rose. This Livervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 25. The Check. I tell you what let's do! It was the day after the exciting events at the Lossar Martin store and Margie's

reinstatement in the employee of Miss Pepper. The three girls were having dinner in the small but cheerful dining room with Joe Morris, the great amateur detective, as their guest. It had been a merry meal for the girls that felt like Sullivan. their good fortune, and were accordingly in the highest of spirits. So now, at Rose's exclamation, the three others looked at her expectantly. Wouldn't it be great to have a real celebration? Asked the youngest sister, as she leaned across the table, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.

If it doesn't cost too much, interjected Helen cautiously, we aren't millionaires yet, you know. Oh, money, money, always money. Rose tossed her pretty head and pouted adorably. I wish we could forget it for a while. Can't be done, Rose, said Margie, as she cheerfully regarded her rice pudding. In this cruel world, you can't get anything for nothing. Oh, well then, returned Rose,

and was subsiding into petulant silence, when Helen said, Tell us what you'd like, Rose, dear. We certainly ought to do something to celebrate all this good fortune. Rose threw her a grateful glance, and her eyes began to sparkle again. I thought we could have a party, not a very large one, just the boys and girls who've been so nice to us. Margie applauded the idea enthusiastically, and the quieter Helen was greatly interested. So it was agreed that they would have a real party, ice cream and cake and favors and all the fixings,

and they sat so long over the table discussing details of the proposed Mary. making that Joe Morris at last felt called upon to interfere. I don't see why you're making all of this fuss anyway, he protested. As long as you invite me, the others don't matter. Oh, listen to who's talking, cried Rose, making an impish face at him. Just for that, Mr. Strainer man, we ought to leave you out altogether. But Joe seemed so dismayed at this possibility and pleaded so pitifully to be spared such a horrible fate, that the laughing girl finally relented, consenting to squeeze in his name at the

very bottom of the list. All this was very foolish and very exciting and pleasant, and before they had finished their discussion, it was decided that the party should be held on the following Saturday evening, and the list of guests had been made up, all that is, except for one name. We have one girl too many, Rose objected, looking up with a heavy frown. That will never do, know. Now, who shall we invite? I could bring someone, suggested Joe, but Rose shook her head emphatically. Thanks just the same, but this is a very select party. I like that, as if I would bring anyone who wasn't select, cried Joe, in an injured tone.

And so we only want those we know, finished Rose calmly, ignoring the interruption. Why not invite that nice young lawyer Hugh Draper from downstairs, suggested Margie, and Rose fairly pounced on the suggestion. Good somebody in this family has brains, she remarked, as Hugh Draper's name was added to the list. Helen objected, saying that they hardly knew the young man, and perhaps he would not care to come. Watch him, cried Rose with confidence. You just leave him to me. As preparations went on for the party, Helen was the only one of the three Blythe girls who was not hilariously happy. She was tremendously glad for Margie and Rose, of course,

but she was uneasy and restless because they were making money, they were getting ahead, and she was not. She continued to visit the art shops she knew and searched out others that she did not know, but the verdict of all was the same. They had no work of the sort for her at the present. They might have later on, and in that case they would let her know. Then one day, the very day before the party, her round of the art stores brought her to the

neighborhood of the Bullard Art Shop. In the bare hope that its proprietor had returned, she turned her steps in that direction. To her surprise and renewed hope, she found the door open, and Mr. Bullard himself sunning himself in the doorway. The eyes of the old gentleman brightened as he caught sight of her, and he welcomed her cordially. my dear child, I owe you an apology, he said as she stepped with him into the friendly gloom of the little shop. I was called away on very important business and have only now returned. I would have let you know long ago, only that I very carelessly mislaid your address. The prince are finished, yes?

Helen replied that they were and eagerly offered to go back to the apartment to get them. But in this heat? The kindly old gentleman protested. Tomorrow will do just as well. But Helen was already halfway out of the door, and the old gentleman looked after her with a smile and a whimsical shake of his head. Ah, youth, youth, he murmured almost sadly.

What a great thing is the enthusiasm of youth. The trip downtown in the stifling subway did not daunt Helen. In fact, she was hardly conscious of her surroundings. Her one thought was that she must hurry. She must get her work to Mr. Bullard quickly while he was still in this genial mood. Suppose he liked it. Gave her more. She gasped and tried not to hope too much.

Mr. Bullard did like her work, liked it so much that he gave her more at a better price, and hinted that he would have as much more for her as she cared to do or had time for. Helen thanked him and went uptown in a days of happiness. The bundle of prince was heavy, the heat and tents, but she was aware of neither. Only at the entrance of the apartment was she reminded of a similar occasion when a pleasant, grey-eyed young man had kindly carried her work up to her door for her. Hugh Draper. She would see him tomorrow night, the night of the party.

She wondered, a little absently, why this fact should fill her with happiness. The evening of the great affair had come. The tiny apartment was shiningly in order, and the table in the dining room looked beautiful with its pretty favors and place cards, and the huge three-tier layer cake in the center. Even before the arrival of the guests, there was that indefinable atmosphere of festivity that is the inevitable accompaniment of an affair of that sort. The girls had treated themselves to a new party dress apiece, bought it a special sail. Margie's was a filmy little affair of silver and blue that set off to perfection her brunette coloring. Rose, in pink, exactly matched her name, and Helen was lovely in a soft corn color. They met in the

living room to exchange compliments and excitedly await the coming of their guests. Birdie North was the first to arrive, and her coming seemed to signal for the arrival of all the rest. They came in twos and threes and singly, until the tiny apartment seemed overflowing with chatter and laughter and youthful exuberance. Hugh Draper was the last to arrive, but when he did get there, he entered into the fun with the best of them. He was really remarkably good-looking, and became a marked favorite with the girls almost at the start. Rose, watching the young lawyer, noticed that his eyes strayed often in Helen's direction and thought generously that she did not blame him. him. Helen had never looked as lovely as she did tonight. Someone else seemed to agree with her enthusiastically on that point. Roy Reynolds was making himself as charming to the girl in the

corn-color frock as he knew how, and it was well-nigh impossible for anyone else to get near her. Anyone but Hugh Draper might have given up the attempt altogether, but he was a determined young man, and besides he had something to say to Helen that he was determined she should here. So he watched his chance, and when she slipped out to the kitchen to look after the refreshments, he quietly followed her. May I come in?

he asked from the kitchen doorway, and Helen flushed a startled pink as she turned toward him. Of course, she answered, recovering and motioning towards an unoccupied chair. If you don't mind watching me work, perhaps I can help, he suggested,

hopefully, but Helen laughed at him cruelly. If you can, you're the first man I ever saw who could, she replied, and then, relenting at his injured expression, handed him a plate piled high with cheese and nut sandwiches. He came back munching one, a sandwich, that is, not a plate, and Helen smiled. You see, she cried with a helpless gesture, instead of helping me, you're helping yourself. Do you think that's nice? Maybe not, but I have something here in my pocket for you that I hope you will think very nice,

returned the young man, and the girl struck by his significant tone stood still staring at him. What do you mean? She asked, bewildered. For answer, Hugh Draper delved into his pocket and brought forth a slip of paper which he held toward her invitingly.

It's yours, he assured her, adding with a chuckle. Now, say I'm not nice if you do, dear. Why, it's a check. Helen was regarding the slip of paper incredulously. A check made out to me for good gracious, what a lot of money. Why, looking at him helplessly, she said, it can't be for me. But it is, he assured her quickly. The construction company that shattered your ceiling and ruined your work gave me power to settle with you rather than take the case to courts. A thing like that would probably delay their building and they're willing to pay,

and pay well, to be let alone. Of course, if you don't think that's enough. Enough, breathed Helen, still wandering in a delightful days of incredulity. Why, it's more, far more than I dare dream of. Mr. Draper, I don't know how I can thank you. Well, I declare, are you two going to hold up this party all night? Rose poked her pretty head in at the doorway, and over her shoulder could be seen the cheerfully grinning face of Joe Morris. Under cover of the general stampede for refreshments, Helen slipped away unnoticed to her room, where she deposited the precious check in a safe corner of her bureau drawer. When she returned to the dining room, she found both Roy Reynolds

and the young lawyer waiting for her, but this time it was Hugh Draper who won. It was not until after the last reluctant guest had departed, that Helen told her sisters of the check. They retired to the larger of the two bedrooms, and, after carefully hanging up their party frocks, Margie and Rose launched into a sleepy but joyful discussion of their wonderful party. But they forgot all about the party for the moment

when Helen brought forth the check from the construction company and told how Hugh Draper had given it to her. I always said that man was a perfect prince, exclaimed Rose as she handled the slip of paper. Goodness, Nell, they can knock our old ceiling down every night if they want to. It's wonderful, Helen, dear, cried Margie softly, as she drew her sister down on the bed beside her. Now, you can go on with your art studies and everything. I believe I can, murmured Helen, her eyes luminous. Oh, girls, it begins to look as if,

as if all our troubles were over at last. What a wonderful old world it is. You said it, cried Rose, and shaking her golden curls, dived headfirst into bed. I wouldn't change places with a queen just now. But as life is as full of troubles and perplexities as it is of sunshine, the three Blythe girls were destined to meet their share of adversity in the stirring days to come.

how they met and solved these problems, remaining brave and fun-loving and unspoiled throughout, will be told in the next volume of this series entitled The Blythe Girls, Margie's Queer Inheritance, or The Worth of a Name. But it did seem that, for the time being at least, fate had decided to smile upon the Blythe sisters and upon all their friends in the bargain, suspicion having been lifted from her by the arrest of Mr. Schaumburg, At the store, Rose became a general favorite. Even Miss O'Brien, shaken in her rule by the defection of the floor-walker, seemed less dictatorial and domineering than of old. Relieved of the load of anxiety that she had been forced to carry for so long,

Rose put her heart into her work, and succeeded so well that one fine morning, Mr. Beetle called her into his office. Your work has improved so much, Miss Blythe, he said, regarding her benevolently over his spectacles, that we have decided to raise your salary. From the first of the month, it will be 18 instead of the usual 15 a week. Rose flushed with pride,

but the next moment her face darkened. She turned impulsively to the smiling assistant manager. Oh, Mr. Beatle, I do thank you, but I really don't deserve a raise nearly as much as Miss North does. Truly, I don't. The man in the swivel chair looked astonished and rubbed his forehead

thoughtfully. Miss North, he repeated gropingly, I don't believe I remember. Of course you don't, and that's because she never makes a fuss about the thing she does. And thereupon, Rose told the interested and

attentive Mr. Beetle what a wonderful person Bertie North was, how patient and untiring, She told him about Mrs. North, too, and then stopped suddenly, alarmed at her outburst, fearing she'd said too much. But Mr. Beetle's eyes were strangely soft, as he said gently. Then you really think this increase in salary should go to Miss North instead of yourself? Oh, yes, Rose said eagerly. I do. The man in the swivel chair studied her a moment, then smiled.

Since Miss North is so valuable to the firm of Lossar Martin, I see no reason why she should not be rewarded, too, he said. Her salary will also be increased, beginning the first of the month. You may tell her so if you like. Rose, I can't believe it's true. You aren't choking, are you? You couldn't be so cruel. Just think what it will mean to mother. Don't you suppose I haven't?

asked Rose, blinking back the tears of joy that would fill her eyes. She will be glad, won't she? Glad! repeated Birdie North, her thin, tired little face bright with new hope. Oh, Posey, you don't know the difference it makes. There's a florist. Wait a minute. I'll be right back. What are you going to do? asked Rose, as the girl darted from the shop. Buy some roses, of course. As many as I can get for a dollar.

And don't you try to stop me either. Rose laughed shakily as she slowly followed her friend. What a good old world it is, she murmured. What a good old world! End of Chapter 25. End of the Blythe Girls, Helen, Margie, and Rose. By Laura Lee Hope.