Paper cambric seemed to have more of a bearing upon the approach of Christmas Day than dressmaking forms, though just what the connection was, Rose couldn’t make out.  There was a crowd at the counter, anyhow.  It was five minutes before she could get waited on.  But once she caught a saleswoman’s eye, her purchase was quickly made.  She bought three bolts:  one of black, one of white, and one of a washed-out blue.  Once more she counted out the money, and this time, “I’ll take it with me,” she said.

Strong as she was, the immense bundle was almost more than she could carry.  But she managed to make her way at last to the main entrance, where, under the incredulous eye of the doorman, she found a porter waiting with her dressmaking form.

“That’s mine,” she said.  “Doris Dane is the name on it.”  Then, to the doorman as the porter made off, “Will you get me a cab?”

But this particular store had, quite naturally, no facilities for doing a carriage business, a fact which the doorman laconically explained.

“All right,” said Rose dumping her heavy bundle beside the dressmaking form.  “You won’t mind keeping an eye on this for a minute, will you?” She didn’t actually smile, but there was in her face a humorous appreciation of the fact that a mountain like this wouldn’t be hard to watch.

The doorman grinned back at her.  “Sure I will,” he said.  “I’m sorry I can’t leave the door to get you a cab.”

Rose hailed one that happened to be passing, a creaking, mud-bespattered disreputable affair with a driver to match, and briskly drove a bargain with him.  He announced when she told him the address that the fare would be a dollar and a half.  She offered him seventy-five cents, which he, with the air of a disillusioned optimist in a bitter world, accepted.  “Christmas, too!” he muttered ironically.

“Oh, come,” said Rose, grinning up at him.  “How many tired people have you given free rides to to-day, on the strength of that?”

“All right, miss; I don’t complain,” he said.  He did, though, but humorously, when Rose, assisted by a page boy the doorman had impressed for her, carried the dressmaker’s form and the other heavy bundle out to the curb.  He declared the form should go as another passenger (its semi-human shape was clearly visible through the wrappings) and that the other bundle ought to have a van.  All the same, when at her destination Rose had paid him, he came down, voluntarily from the box—­voluntarily but with a sort of reluctance—­and carried the form up to her room for her.

Also, rather incredibly, he refused an extra quarter she had ready for him when he had completed this service.  “Just to show no ill feelings,” he said, and he told her where his stand was and gave himself a little recommendation:  “Honest and reliable.”

Here in her close little room, the suggestion of an alcoholic basis for this generosity obtruded itself, but Rose didn’t care.  She wished him a merry Christmas and waved him off with a smile.