“Yes,” he said, “I’m here.”

She came close to him, more and more incredulous, and the air became electric.

“But what brings you here?”

“I live here—­West Tenth.”

“Live here?  Why?”

Her eyes seemed to search through his.

“You made me,” he murmured.

She smiled strangely.

“That night?”

“Yes.”

Impulsively her hand went out, and he clasped it ... her hand seemed almost frozen.  Tears of humility sprang to her eyes.

“I was high and mighty that night,... but I couldn’t help it....  But you ... do you realize what a wonderful thing you’ve done?”

He laughed awkwardly.

“Yes, here’s what I’ve done”—­he handed her a copy of The Nine-Tenths—­“and it’s very wonderful.”

She gave a strange, short laugh again—­excitement, exultation—­and held the paper as if it were a living thing.

“This ... The Nine-Tenths ... oh!... for the working people....  Let me see!”

She went to the light, spread the paper and eagerly read.  Then she glanced back a moment and saw his worn face and the weary droop of his back.

“Say—­you’re dead tired.  Sit down.  You don’t mind the bed, do you?”

He smiled softly.

“I don’t!  I am pretty much done up.”  And he sank down, and let his hands droop between his knees.

Sally read, and then suddenly turned to him.

“This editorial is—­it’s just a ripper.”

The author felt the thrill of a creator.  She went on: 

“I wish every working-girl in New York could read this.”

“So do I.”

She turned and looked at him, more and more excited.

“So this is what you’re doing.  I must pinch myself—­it’s all a dream!  Too good to be true.”

Suddenly there seemed to be a reversal in their relationships.  Before, his end of the beam was down, hers up.  But subtly in her voice he felt the swing to the other extreme.  She had set him in a realm above herself.

“Tell me,” she said, “just how you came to go into this.”

He told her a little, and as he spoke he became thoroughly at his ease with her, as if she were a man, and in the pleasure of their swift comradeship they could laugh at each other.

“Mr. Blaine,” she said, suddenly, “if I got you into this, it’s up to me to help you win.  I’m going to turn into an agent for you—­I’ll make ’em subscribe right and left.”

Joe laughed at her.

“Lordy, if you knew how good it is to hear this—­after tramping up three miles of stairs and more and nabbing a tawdry twenty subscriptions.”

“Is that all you got?”

“People don’t understand.”

“We’ll make them!” cried Sally, clenching her fist.

Joe laughed warmly; he was delighted with her.

“Are you working here?” he asked.