Concerned as we were over our plight, my companion and I could not help being aware that a young lady who had been standing at the desk when we came in, and had since remained there, was taking kindly interest in the situation.  Nor, for the matter of that, could we help being aware, also, that she was very pretty in her soft black dress and corsage of narcissus.  She did not speak to us; indeed, she hardly honored us with a glance; but, despite her sweet circumspection, we sensed in some subtle way that she was sorry for us, and were cheered thereby.

After a time, when the clerk seemed to have reached the end of his resources, the young lady hesitantly ventured some suggestions as to other houses where rooms might possibly be had.  These suggestions she addressed entirely to the clerk—­who, upon receiving them, did more telephoning.

“Have you tried Mrs. Eichelberger?” the young lady asked him, after several more failures.

He had not, but promptly did so.  His conversation with Mrs. Eichelberger started promisingly, but presently we heard him make the damning admission he had been compelled repeatedly to make before: 

“No, ma’am.  It’s two men.”

Then, just as the last hope seemed to be fading, our angel of mercy spoke again.

“Wait!” she put in impulsively.  “Tell her—­tell her I recommend them.”

Thus informed, Mrs. Eichelberger became compliant; but when the details were arranged, and we turned to thank our benefactor, she had fled.

Mrs. Eichelberger’s house was but a few blocks distant from the Gilmer.  She installed us in two large, comfortable rooms, remarking, as we entered, that we had better hurry, as we were already late.

“Late for what?” one of us asked.

“Didn’t you come for the senior dramatics?”

“Senior dramatics where?”

“At the I.I. and C.”

“What is the I.I. and C?”

At this question a look of doubt, if not suspicion, crossed the lady’s face.

“Where are you-all from?” she demanded.

The statement that we came from New York seemed to explain satisfactorily our ignorance of the I.I. and C. Evidently Mrs. Eichelberger expected little of New Yorkers.  The I.I. and C., she explained, was the Mississippi Industrial Institute and College, formerly known as the Female College, a State institution for young women; and the senior dramatics were even then in progress in the college chapel, just up the street.

To the chapel, therefore, my companion and I repaired as rapidly as might be, guided thither by frequent sounds of applause.

From among the seniors standing guard in cap and gown at the chapel door, the quick artistic eye of my companion selected a brown-eyed auburn-haired young goddess as the one from whom tickets might most appropriately be bought.  Nor did he display thrift in the transaction.  Instead of buying modest quarter seats he magnificently purchased the fifty-cent kind.