"No, sir," said Dan, "a death trap." Mr. Clarke set his jaw and glared at Dan, but he said nothing. The doctor's recent verdict on the death of a certain one-eyed girl, named Mag Gist, may have had something to do with his silence. "How many girls are in that room now?" he asked after a long pause. Dan gave the number, together with several other disturbing facts concerning the sanitary arrangements. "Well, what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Clarke, fiercely. "We can't get out the work with fewer girls, and there is no way of enlarging that room." "Yes, sir, there is," said Dan. "Would you mind me showing you a way?" "Since you are so full of advice, go ahead." With crude, but sure, pencil strokes, Dan got his ideas on paper. He had done it so often for his own satisfaction that he could have made them with his eyes shut. Ever since those early days when he had seen that room through Nance Molloy's eyes, he had persisted in his efforts to better it. Mr. Clarke, with his fingers thrust through his scanty hair, watched him scornfully. "Absolutely impractical," he declared. "The only feasible plan would be to take out the north partition and build an extension like this." "That couldn't be done," said Dan, "on account of the projection." Whereupon, such is the power of opposition, Mr. Clarke set himself to prove that it could. For over an hour they wrangled, going into the questions of cost, of time, of heating, of ventilation, scarcely looking up from the plans until a figure in a checked suit flung open the door, letting in a draught of air that scattered the papers on the desk. "Hello, Dad," said the new-comer, with a friendly nod to Dan, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I only have a minute." "Which I should accept gratefully, I suppose, as my share of your busy day?" Mr. Clarke tried to look severe, but his eyes softened. "Well, I just got up," said Mac, with an ingratiating smile, as he smoothed back his shining hair before the mirror in the hat-rack. "Running all night, and sleeping half the day!" grumbled Mr. Clarke. "By the way, what time did you get in last night?" Mac made a wry face. "_Et tu, Brute?_" he cried gaily. "Mother's polished me off on that score. I have not come here to discuss the waywardness of your prodigal son. Mr. Clarke, I have come to talk high finance. I desire to negotiate a loan." "As usual," growled his father. "I venture to say that Dan Lewis here, who earns about half what you waste a year, has something put away." "But Dan's the original grinder. He always had an eye for business. Used to win my nickel every Sunday when we shot craps in the alley back of the cathedral. Say, Dan, I see you've still got that handsome thoroughbred cur of yours! By George, that dog could use his tail for a jumping rope!" Dan smiled; he couldn't afford to be sensitive about Growler's beauty. "Is that all, Mr. Clarke?" he asked of his employer.