outcome of the Coroner's inquest. By 9 o'clock the next morning, my attorney had been in to see me; Mrs. Wallace had employed him.

Poor Peebles in his anxiety to be of service, helped and advised me. Putting two and two together-what he thought and what he didn't think before an eager reporter, made a mess of a writeup. The reporter's imagination supplied the missing link; nothing was omitted.

Of course urse I didn't see the paper-I was a prisoner. But I was told that my picture and Miss Rois' picture, "snapped" by an enterprising photographer, occupied a conspicuous place on the front page. They also had a picture of Miss Mason, and Mrs. Mason gowned in black, coming out of Doctor McDonald's office. The heading read:

"To Whom It May Concern." Then followed a wild story of love and adventure. Such a mess! Carmen Rois, eyes red-rimmed from crying-according to her attorney-had sent for her father, a millionaire of Pasadena.

From 10 o'clock on I paced my cell. Each minute seemed an eternity. When would that lawyer be back? I began to distrust him—the world-everybody.

I heard the stertorous snoring of someone in a cell near by, while snatches of a popular air, hummed by a trusty at work in one of the corridors, relieved the monotony. Then came subdued voices, the sound of the jailer's massive keys and the heavy clang of metal as the bolts shot back. Someone was coming. I craned to see as far down the corridor as I could. My lawyer was coming.

"What's the verdict?" I cried, my nerves at the breaking point from the suspense, the ignominy, the degradation.

For the fraction of a second he hesitated.

"Poisoned by an overdose of some drug, the nature of which is unknown to the jury," he replied, in the even tones of one accustomed to such disagreeable

messages.

"But," I protested, "I gave her the directions as printed on the bottle."

"This is only the Coroner's verdict," he soothed. "You will have plenty of time

to present all this evidence when the case comes up for trial."

"Well, I guess I'll have to look around and get someone to go my bail," I suggested more hopefully.

Again the lawyer hesitated. I looked at him inquiringly.

"What is it?" I asked. "You were about to say something?"

"These cases are rather difficult. We cannot do anything about bail until later. You will have to wait for your preliminary hearing."

"Man!" I must have barked it at him from the way he moved back. "For God's sake, have them hurry! This is getting. my nerve!"

"Why did you leave her three kinds of pills, as well as liquid medicine?"

"Ask me something easy-anything. Why was I born? Why did Fate pick on me?"

"Romance-but I hate the word," he

replied.

"See here," I said, my anger rising. "I've been through enough-so has Miss Rois-because of a lot of meddling people. I've got to see her. Tell her if she won't come here I don't care what happens electricity, the chair, hanging, anything to have it over with. Tell her it's up to her. If she won't come I'll not fight the case. I'll just go to the chair without a struggle. That's better than life without her!"

"Harrington, you fool! Shut up!" he stormed.

A door clanged and again I was alone. It was a little after the noon whistles blew that Mrs. Wallace came to see me again. She wept over me like a mother; and as she left she said:

"I am going to see Mrs. Mason. Maybe there is something she will do to make things easier for you."

"Anything, so long as I get out of this place!"

I heard the stroke of the clock at one. I was growing despondent. I longed for freedom. I conjured up all the stories I had read of prisoners, and what they did to while away the time. As the clock struck two, I made up my mind that it was no use, that she would not come to There was the sound

see me.

of someone coming down my corridor. There were voices, subdued.

I listened intently, straining to hear. It was! It was her voice! My heart pounded violently.

"My father," I heard her say, "will be in on the evening train. He wired me to see no one, talk to no one and to remain at my apartment, Mrs. Wallace, you've made me disobey!"

They came toward my cell. I looked anxiously through the bars. Carmen Rois was as pale as if she had been through a wasting fever. I tried to think what I'd say first.

"What a horrible place! You poor boy! I am so sorry!"

Her eyes held the light with which she must have charmed the little children in her kindergarten classes; which must have made the naughty ones repentant.

I trembled as I tried to shake hands, but our fingers in meeting seemed to understand. They interlaced. Our eyes strove to read the innermost secrets of each other's souls.

"Miss Mason was all right when I left her the other night," I said, earnestly. "The night that I met you. I left a note there for you."

A cry escaped her lips.

"My dear boy! And that note was from you? Of course I got it; but I haven't read it. It came by mail this morning, just about the time that the terrible Extra was yelled through the streets! I forgot to read it, and stuck it. into my handbag.”

She withdrew her hand. What little composure she had managed to keep, deserted her. She began to weep.

"Now, dear," soothed Mrs. Wallace. "It was simply a chain of circumstances, just as I have already explained to you. There'll be a way out."

Carmen Rois wiped her eyes, reached into her handbag and drew out an envelope. This she tore open. My heart pounded against my ribs. She was beautiful-beautiful! She was the daughter of a millionaire. But what were a few millions, more or less, to me? If I got out of this mess with a whole skin—

I watched her read. Her lips trembled and her hand shook. Through a mist of

tears her eyes gazed steadfastly into mine.

"Listen," she said. "Dear Miss Carmen:

"Dr. Harrington left your recommendation with me. He made a special trip, and told me not to tell you. The first time, he left some pills for me. The pills I didn't take. When mother wasn't looking I stuck them under a corner of the bedroom

rug.

"He had such a frightened, new-to-thebusiness look I'd be afraid to take his dope. When mother gave me the liquid medicine, I spat it into my handkerchief, and made a big spot on the linen-an ugly brown spot. I don't suppose that it will wash out.

"While mother was down town today, someone tried to break into the house. I got scared. Mother said my bad feelings were because I'd taken an overdose of medicine; so three doctors pumped out my stomach. It was something I've always wanted done, because I've had a strange feeling in my left side for years One doctor would say it was my stomach; another my spleen; and still another my heart. This way, I felt that one of the questions could be settled as to the location of the trouble.

"I feel fine tonight. Mother is going down to the corner to mail this. I am enclosing the recommendation. I meant to send it to you, if you didn't come to see me pretty soon.

"I am tired of not sleeping, so will take two powders instead of one. Doctor McDonald told me a powder would be enough for me to take; but I've had a hard day, and I want to be sure of rest.

"Yours in haste,

"PEGGY MASON." A stillness followed the reading. We looked at each other. Her eyes suddenly revealed a new hope. I know mine said three times as much. Mrs. Wallace nervously sobbed:

"Who'll-you give the letter lo?"
"To the chief," replied the guard.

Miss Rois handed him the letter. Mrs. Wallace-good old soul!-followed the officer out to his superior's office. Mrs. Wallace felt that she must see where the letter went.

In the excitement, we were aloneCarmen and I. I reached eagerly through the bars. If only my tumultuous heart would quiet for a moment, would give me courage, now that I would soon have the right to liberty, to say what I wished to say!

Our hands met; I drew her toward me. "Do you do you really care?" was the astonishing thing that Carmen said.

M

YRTLE looked pale as she took her seat on the cashier's stool. She always felt the pinch of the bitter cold January, for a grocery store is always apt to be cold. It was not only the chill from inadequate clothing, however, that sapped her usual efficiency. The rent on their three-room tenement had been raised and the baby had cold on his chest. Her breakfast had been eaten hastily, while her mother urged the necessity for asking old Mr. Grimes for a raise.

"No use, ma, and he might fire me. He's had an awful grouch on this week. A fancy lot of grapefruit got frozen one night, and he can't stop talking about it." "Well, I dunno. We hardly got through last week, and I had to let that fifty cents for patching Ted's shoe go over until your next pay, and now the rent has gone up $3.00."

Myrtle had pulled on her little velveteen hat and hurried away with the worried accents dinning in her ears.

Saturday was always a busy day in the overcrowded grocery. Myrtle mechanically made change and refused or extended credit on various small amounts, while under the sleek black hair went on the eternal figuring over the money problem. The doctor at the free dispensary had looked grave over the cold that lingered so persistently on the baby's chest, and had said positively that there must be no steamy washings hung in the same. room with him. This meant either the curtailment of the washings taken in or the heating of another room for baby, and this was out of the question with coal at the rising price.

When 5 o'clock came Myrtle began counting the day's money. Mr. Grimes always demanded the accounting half an hour before closing time. She figured with the apprehensive sensation that she invariably experienced, for she was not very quick at figures-in fact, she only

held her job because of the low salary she accepted. After many interruptions she compared her slips with her total, and She began discovered she was $5 over.

all over again, for she had found that an apparent surplus usually meant a more important deficit. But she had not made any mistake this time. Her cash was correct save for the addition of a $5 bill. She vizualized the look of greed that would suffuse old Mr. Grimes' face. That $5 would go a long way toward consoling him for the frozen grapefruit. Then another thought occurred to her. That $5 was almost as much hers; if she should be short on her money she would have to make it up or be fired. Why shouldn't she have the money? She put the bill aside while she struggled with the new idea.

Ed, the clerk, had watched her figuring. "Say, Myrtle, you're not short, are you?" he asked.

She paled. She and Ed had been friends for years, and lately he had acquired an air of proprietorship when he accompanied her home or on their rather rare trips to the movies that secretly thrilled her. "Why, no," she hesitated.

"Because if you are, girlie, you know old Grimes would enjoy nothing better than firing you. He said last night that he thought his wife could just as well come down and sit in the cage all day— that there was no profit on taking in the money," he stopped and plunged his hand in his pocket. "I have some money with me, and if you need-" Again he paused for Myrtle was fiercely independent and quick to take offense.

"I suppose your time is worth nothing," snapped the boss. "Saturday night is a good time for a pink tea conversation."

Myrtle bent over her figures and Ed went on weighing new potatoes. Her head ached and her cheeks burned. How

good Ed was; always kind and invariably looking out for her. She would feel like throwing up the illy paid work and taking the chance on getting something better, but he made the sordid place, with its odors of cheese and old vegetables, endurable. What would he think of her if he knew that she had seriously considered keeping the extra $5? She could imagine the look of hurt contempt that would replace the expression of pride that his face radiated when he glanced down at her. She would hate to destroy his faith-to feel that his astonished wonder would be succeeded by the blase easy going estimate of girls that some of the fellows affected.

Her reflections were not by any means undisturbed. Demands for small change or all in bills; shrill complaints as to shortages in orders. "Think I expect to pay four cents apiece for eggs and find one cracked?" demanded Josie, who lived in the same tenement and expected Myrtle to let her bill run out of sheer neighborliness.

"Where's the egg?" returned Myrtle, wearily.

Josie bristled. "Did ye suppose I'd carry a cracked egg?"

"Sorry, but I cannot make a refund without the goods."

Josie flounced off muttering, and another woman edged in at the window. Another hour passed and Ed looked over at Myrtle's puzzled face and sagging shoulders whenever he could snatch a moment. "Gee, but it's hard on a slip of a girl to work such long hours and then have the responsibility of the cash she can't add anyway without using her fingers," he thought, liking her all the better for her feminine lack of mathematics.

"Myrtle, want me to add up your slips for you?" he whispered when Grimes had gone out for a few minutes.

The sleek black head shook decisively: "No, they are all done."

There was a commotion near the door, and a thin bent old woman rushed in,

followed by Grimes. "She says she's short on money," yelled the boss, “no use trying to run anything like that on me."

"I ain't trying to run nothin'. I had a $10 bill and paid my slip of $1.20 and put the change in my bag. I remembered after that I'd seen the $5 bill pushed to one side when a man stuck his slip and a lot of change in. The bill was beside the spindle where the girl sticks her slips on." The old woman was crying as they ranged up before the tiny window.

"When did all this happen?" bellowed Grimes. "Yer must be awful rich to go leavin' $5 bills around careless like. Suppose yer got so much—"

"I was on my way to a funeral and was a bit dazed, but-"

"Yer not over, are ye?" Grimes pushed his way in front of the trembling claimant. "And if—”

Ed drew near. If there was any trouble he wanted to be near Myrtle.

Her soft dark eyes dwelt briefly on the wrinkled old face, on the cheeks wet with the slow tears of age. "Yes, I am over, she spoke swiftly, for she read the unspoken word that had trembled on Grimes' lips. He intended to forbid her. to acknowledge any surplus. Reaching into her cash drawer she took out her totals for the day and a sealed envelope marked "Surplus cash." "Here, Mr. Grimes. The money is in this, and the transaction is entered on my total slip."

"Oh, then ye did leave it," Grimes handed the envelope into the eager old hands. "Better not not be so careless again," he added not unkindly. And there was a queer look of admiration in his hard eyes as he looked at the tired little cashier.

"The old girl didn't take any chances leaving her money about with you to look out for her," was all Ed said, as he took Myrtle's arm when they had reached the snowy street, but the girl, looking up and surprising the old look of pride on his radiant face, felt the old love of life surge through her despite her fatigue.

Foo Soon The Heathen

A Losing Battle Against Adverse Fate

By Frederick C. Rothermel

A FO SOON, otherwise proprietor

W of the Ghong Far My restaurant,

adjusted his glasses on the blunt stump of his nose and took up his writing stick. For a space he wrote, a broad grin stretched in complacence across his small amber face, his hand sweeping the narrow strip of rice paper in a debauch of blotches and dabs. When the black ink had dried, he folded the paper into a neat flatness, slipped it into a narrow envelope and addressed it to a certain little old mother in far-away Peking.

It was an intolerably cold night. Fo Soon stood before the small-paned window of his restaurant situated above the Wang Broom factory, and caressed his bony hands. Not that he was himself cold; for the window through which he gazed was amuck with the steam of the heat within. Fo Soon stood in great sympathy for the mass of people that was given to wade through the drenched street, saturated to the skin in the loathsomeness of the splurge of a bleak, late winter. But he would profit by it. Added to the rain, sightseers in Chinatown never considered their trip quite complete without the cup of hot tea, unsweetened and without cream; or the fumbling of chop sticks at one of the small teak-wood tables in a remote corner of the room.

The little heathen stood with hands slipped up his sleeves gazing mutely out at the strata of people on the opposite side of the street. Umbrellas, of dark green and purple and death-black slipped open and closed, nodded and tilted. A bobbing smear of whiteness went by, a napkin-covered tray upon its head. Followed a flower vendor, basket of chrysanthemums on one arm. Small gatherings of people collected in the doorways of shops at times holding forth a hand to the outer

New Chinatown. San Francisco

wetness. A pussyfooted policeman oozed by with the sleekness of an eel, the rustle of his oils sending half a score of small boys helter-skelter into the labyrinths of the crowd. A dog fight had started somewhere in the near vicinity, whereon the doorways vomited forth their parcel-laden people and sing-songing merchants. Windows opened, heads appeared. A mother wailed for her progeny. The dog fight died down and the crowd smeared and curdled back into its old form.

All this Fo Soon saw through the smudge of his window. After a time he walked back into the room, surveying the interior with deep satisfaction. He looked back over the years of his life to the time when the streets of San Francisco were