"Stick--and fight--and _cash in_." "Tottie!" Clare stared, appalled. "O-o-o-oh!"--sneeringly. "Pullin' the goody-goody stuff, eh?" "Let me go! Let me go!" "Auntie Clare!" With the cry of fear, Barbara came between them, catching at the elder woman's arm. Tottie loosed her hold and went back to the mantel to lean and look. Clare drew out a drawer of the small center-table, searched it, and laid a hand-mirror beside the cage. "What'll be your new address?" "I'll send it to you." The landlady began to whine. "Ain't that just my rotten luck! Another room empty!--you know you oughta give me a week's notice." "Oh, I'll pay you for it," answered Clare, bitterly. "Well, I don't want to gouge you, dearie. And I don't know what I'll do when you're gone. I've just learned to love you.--And with summer comin' on, goodness knows how I'm goin' to rent that back-parlor. It's hard to run a respectable house and keep it full. Now as I say, if I was careless, I----" But what Miss St. Clair might have been moved to do under such conditions was not forthcoming, for now steps were heard, climbing to the front door. Next, a man's voice spoke. Then the bell rang. "Wait! Wait!" As she warned Tottie, Clare crossed to the bay-window at a run. "Maybe here's a new roomer," suggested the hopeful landlady. But Clare had pressed aside the heavy curtain framing the window until she could command the stoop. Two men were waiting there. "Oh!" she breathed, almost reeling back upon Tottie. "Oh, don't let 'em in! Don't! I can't see anybody! Say I'm gone! Oh, please, Tottie! I'm gone for good." She was beside Barbara again, and was almost lifting the child from the floor by an arm. Then she reached for the bird-cage. "Friends of yours?" questioned Tottie. She also peeked out. "No! No!"--and to Barbara, "Come! Don't you speak! Don't open your mouth! Not a word!" Taking the child with her, she fled into her own room, closing the door. The bell rang again, but Tottie took her time. Going to the fireplace, she turned "The Lorelei" to the wall; then slipping the shawl from her shoulders, she draped it carelessly over the plaster statuette of the diving-girl. After which she stepped back, appraised the effect, and went to open the front door to a large, ill-tempered man in a loose sack suit, and a young man, tall and white to ghastliness, whose nostrils quivered and whose mouth was scarcely more than a blue line. "Good-morning," began Balcome, entering without being asked. "Won't you step in?" begged Tottie, pointedly. The door to the back-parlor had opened to a crack. And a face distorted with fear looked through the narrow opening. Clare heard the invitation, and the entering men. She shut the door softly.