to make an impression on ’em, an’ don’t you forget it.  There!  That’s right!  Now, no one can observe what’s occurrin’ in your face, an’ I can talk straight into your ear, see?  What I was goin’ to say is, that bein’ a mother myself an’ havin’ children of my own to look out for, I couldn’t recommend any lady, let alone one so young an’ pretty as you, to take up with strangers, here in New York City, be they male or be they female.  No, certaintly not!  But in this case, you can take it from me, I’m O.K.  I can give the highest references.  I worked for the best fam’lies in this town, ever since I was a child.  You needn’t be a mite afraid.  I’m just a plain mother of a fam’ly an’, believe me, you can trust me as you would trust one of your own relations, though I do say it as shouldn’t, knowin’ how queer own relations can be and is, when put to it at times.  So, if you happen to be in a hole, my dear, without friends or such things in the city, you feel free to turn to, or if you seem to stand in need of a word of advice, or—­anything else, why, dontcher hesitate a minute.  It’d be a pretty deep hole Martha Slawson couldn’t see over the edge of, be sure of that, even if she did have to stand on her toes to do it.  Holes is my specialty, havin’ been in an’ out, as you might say, all my life—­particularly in.”

Judicious or not, Claire told her story.  It was not a long one.  Just the everyday experience of a young girl coming to a strange city, without influence, friends, or money, expecting to make her way, and finding that way beset with difficulties, blocked by obstacles.

“I’ve done everything I could think of, honestly I have,” she concluded apologetically.  “I began by trying for big things; art-work in editorial offices (everybody liked my art-work in Grand Rapids!).  But ’twas no use.  Then I took up commercial drawing.  I got what looked like a good job, but the man gave me one week’s pay, and that’s all I could ever collect, though I worked for him over a month.  Then I tried real estate.  One firm told me about a woman selling for them who cleared, oh, I don’t know how-much-a-week, in commissions.  Something queer must be the matter with me, I guess, for I never got rid of a single lot, though I walked my feet off.  I’ve tried writing ads., and I’ve directed envelopes.  I’ve read the Wants columns, till it seems as if everybody in the world was looking for a job.  But I can’t get anything to do.  I guess God doesn’t mean me to die of starvation, for you wouldn’t believe how little I’ve had to eat all summer and fall, and yet I’m almost as strong and hearty as ever.  But lately I haven’t been able to make any money at all, not five cents, so I couldn’t pay my board, and they—­they told me at the house where I live, that I’d have to square up to-night, or I couldn’t keep my room any longer.  They took my trunk a week ago.  I haven’t had anything to wear except these clothes I have on, since, and they’re pretty wet now—­and—­and—­I’ve nowhere to go, and it is pouring so hard, and I should have been put off the car if you hadn’t—­”