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for this last sorry--a way she'd help him later; and when she
danced out into the hall she was the very happiest burglar in a

world chock full of opportunities.
Oh, she was in such a twitter as she did it! All that old delight

in doing somebody else up, a vague somebody whose meannesses she
didn't know, was as nothing to the joy of doing Tausig up. She

was dancing on a volcano again, that incorrigible Nance! Oh, but
such a volcano, Maggie! It atoned for a year of days when there

was nothing doing; no excitement, no risk, nothing to keep a girl
interested and alive.

And, Maggie darlin', it was a wonderful volcano, that ones that
last one, for it worked both ways. It paid up for what I haven't

done this past year and what I'll never do again in the years to
come. It made up to me for all I've missed and all I'm going to

miss. It was a reward of demerit for not being respectable, and a
preventive of further sins. Oh, it was such a volcano as never

was. It was a drink and a blue ribbon in one. It was a bang-up
end and a bully beginning. It was--

It was Tausig coming in as I was going out. Suddenly I realized
that, but I was in such a mad whirl of excitement that I almost

ran over the little fellow before I could stop myself.
"Phew! What a whirlwind you are!" he cried. "Where are you

going?"
"Oh, good morning, Mr. Tausig," I said sweetly. "I never

dreamed you'd be down so early in the morning."
"What're you doing with the paper?" he demanded suspiciously.

My eye followed his. I could have beaten Nancy Olden in that
minute for not having sense enough to hide that precious

agreement, instead of carrying it rolled up in her hand.
"Just taking it home to go over it," I said carelessly, trying

to pass him.
But he barred my way.

"Where's Mason?" he asked.
"Poor Mason!" I said. "He's--he's asleep."

"Drunk again?"
I nodded. How to get away!

"That settles his hash. Out he goes to-day . . . It seems to me
you're in a deuce of a hurry," he added, as I tried to get out

again. "Come in; I want to talk something over with you."
"Not this morning," I said saucily. I wanted to cry. "I've got

an engagement to lunch, and I want to go over this stuff for
Mason before one."

"Hm! An engagement. Who with, now?"
My chin shot up in the air. He laughed, that cold, noiseless

little laugh of his.
"But suppose I want you to come to lunch with me?"

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Tausig. But how could I break my engagement
with--"

"With Braun?"
"How did you guess it?" I laughed. "There's no keeping

anything from you."
He was immensely satisfied with his little self. "I know

him--that old rascal," he said slowly. "I say, Olden, just do
break that engagement with Braun."

"I oughtn't--really."
"But do--eh? Finish your work here and we'll go off together, us

two, at twelve-thirty, and leave him cooling his heels here when
he comes." He rubbed his hands gleefully.

"But I'm not dressed."
"You'll do for me."

"But not for me. Listen: let me hurry home now and I'll throw
Braun over and be back here to meet you at twelve-thirty."

He pursed up his thin little lips and shook his head. But I
slipped past him in that minute and got out into the street.

"At twelve-thirty," I called back as I hurried off.
I got around the corner in a jiffy. Oh, I could hardly walk, Mag!

I wanted to fly and dance and skip. I wanted to kick up my heels
as the children were doing in the Square, while the organ ground

out, Ain't It a Shame? I actually did a step or two with them, to
their delight, and the first thing I knew I felt a bit of a hand

in mine like a cool pink snowflake and--
Oh, a baby, Mag! A girl-baby more than a year old and less than

two years young; too little to talk; too big not to walk; facing
the world with a winning smile and jabbering things in her soft

little lingo, knowing that every woman she meets will understand.
I did, all right. She was saying to me as she kicked out her

soft, heelless little boot:
"Nancy Olden, I choose you. Nancy Olden, I love you. Nancy

Olden, I dare you not to love me. Nancy Olden, I defy you not to
laugh back at me!"

Where in the world she dropped from, heaven knows. The
organ-grinder picked up the shafts of his wagon and trundled it

away. The piccaninnies melted like magic. But that gay little
flirt, about a year and a half old, just held on to my finger and

gabbled--poetry.
I didn't realize just then that she was a lost, strayed or

stolen. I expected every moment some nurse or conceited mamma to
appear and drag her away from me. And I looked down at her--oh,

she was just a little bunch of soft stuff; her face was a
giggling dimple, framed in a big round hat-halo, that had fallen

from her chicken-blond head; and her white dress, with the blue
ribbons at the shoulders, was just a little bit dirty. I like 'em

a little bit dirty. Why? Perhaps because I can imagine having a
little coquette of my own a bit dirty like that, and can't just

see Nance Olden with a spick-and-span clean baby, all feathers
and lace, like a bored little grown-up.

"You're a mouse," I gurgled down at her. "You're a sweetheart.
You're a--"

And suddenly I heard a cry and rush behind me.
It was a false alarm; just a long-legged girl of twelve rushing

round the corner, followed by a lot of others. It hadn't been
meant for me, of course, but in the second when I had remembered

that precious paper and Tausig's rage when he should miss it, I
had pulled my hand away from that bit baby's and started to run.

The poor little tot! There isn't any reason in the world for the
fancies they take any more than for our own; eh, Mag? Why should

she have been attracted to me just because I was so undignified
as to dance with the piccaninnies?

But do you know what that little thing did? She thought I was
playing with her. She gave a crow of delight and came bowling

after me.
That finished me. I stooped and picked her up in my arms,

throwing her up in the air to hear her crow and feel her come
down again.

"Mouse," I said, "we'll just have a little trip together. The
nurse that'd lose you deserves to worry till you're found. The

mother that's lucky enough to own you will be benefited hereafter
by a sharp scare on your account just now. Come on, sweetheart!"

Oh, the feel of a baby in your arms, Mag! It makes the Cruelty
seem a perfectly unreal thing, a thing one should be unutterably

ashamed of imagining, of accusing human nature of; a thing only
an irredeemably vile thing could imagine. Just the weight of that

little body riding like a bonny boat at anchor on your arm, just
the cocky little way it sits up, chirping and confident; just the

light touch of a bit of a hand on your collar; just that is
enough to push down brick walls; to destroy pictures of bruised

and maimed children that endure after the injuries are healed; to
scatter records that even I--I, Nancy Olden--can't believe and

believe, too, that other women have carried their babies, as I
did some other woman's baby, across the Square.

On the other side I set her down. I didn't want to. I was greedy
of every moment that I had her. But I wanted to get some change

ready before climbing up the steps to the L-station.
She clutched my dress as we stood there a minute in a perfectly

irresistible way. I know now why men marry baby-women: it's to
feel that delicious, helplessclutch of weak fingers; the clutch

of dependence, of trust, of appeal.
I looked down at her with that same silly adoration I've seen on

Molly's face for her poor, lacking, twisted boy. At least, I did
in the beginning. But gradually the expression of my face must

have changed; for all at once I discovered what had been done to
me.

My purse was gone.
Yes, Maggie Monahan, clean gone! My pocket had been as neatly

picked as I myself--well, never mind, as what. I threw back my
head and laughed aloud. Nance Olden, the great doer-up, had been

done up so cleverly, so surely, so prettily, that she hadn't had
an inkling of it.

I wished I could get a glimpse of the clever girl that did it. A
girl--of course, it was! Do you think any boy's fingers could do

a job like that and me not even know?
But I didn't stop to wish very long. Here was I with the thing I

valued most in the world still clutched in my hand, and not a
nickel to my name to get me, the paper, and the baby on our way.

It was the baby, of course, that decided me. You can't be very
enterprising when you're carrying a pink lump of sweetness that's

all a-smile at the moment, but may get all a-tear the next.
"It's you for the nearest police station, you young tough!"

I said, squeezing her. "I can't take you home now and
show you to Mag."

But she giggled and gurgled back at me, the abandoned thing, as
though the police station was just the properest place for a

young lady of her years.
It was not so very near, either, that station. My arm ached when

I got there from carrying her, but my heart ached, too, to leave
her. I told the matron how and where the little thing had picked

me up. At first she wouldn't leave me, but--the fickle little
thing--a glass of milk transferred all her smiles and wiles to

the matron. Then we both went over her clothes to find a name or
an initial or a laundry mark. But we found nothing. The matron

offered me a glass of milk, too, but I was in a hurry to be gone.
She was a nice matron; so nice that I was just about to ask her

for the loan of car-fare when--
When I heard a voice, Maggie, in the office adjoining. I knew

that voice all right, and I knew that I had to make a decision
quick.

I did. I threw the whole thing into the lap of Fate. And when I
opened the door and faced him I was smiling.

Oh, yes, it was Tausig.
XIV.

He started as though he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw me.
"The Lord hath delivered mine enemy into my hand," shone in his

evil little face.
"Why, Mr. Tausig," I cried, before he could get his breath.

"How odd to meet you here! Did you find a baby, too?"
"Did I find--" He glared at me. "I find you; that's enough.

Now--"
"But the luncheon was to be at twelve-thirty," I laughed. "And

I haven't changed my dress yet."
"You'll change it all right for something not so becoming if you

don't shell out that paper."
"Paper?"

"Yes, paper. Look here, if you give it back to me this
minute--now--I'll not prosecute you for--for--"

"For the sake of my reputation?" I suggested softly.
"Yes." He looked doubtfully at me, mistrusting the amiable

deference of my manner.
"That would be awfully good of you," I murmured.

He did not answer, but watched me as though he wasn't sure which
way I'd jump the next moment.

"I wonder what could induce you to be so forgiving," I went on


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