As I reached the patio of 1467, the flames stopped. It was a queer kind of break. No fadeout, just a stoppage. I took a step backward. No flames this time, but the very worst and very biggest monster of them all. Coming suddenly like that, it got to my spine and stomach, even though I was pretty used to them. I stepped away from it and it was gone. Number 1467 was different from the other houses, and it wasn't even on fire. It was on two lots, and it had two picture windows, but only one little porch and front door. I guess even the well-to-do have a hard time finding big houses and good building sites and the right neighborhood. The trouble is so many people are well-to-do and there just aren't enough old manses to go around. I strolled up the stucco path and lifted the wrought-iron knocker, which rang a bell. The door opened and there was a girl there. She wasn't much compared to the one I put my hand through. But she was all right--brown hair, a nice face underneath the current shades of cosmetics, no figure for a stripper, but it would pass. "You the maid?" I inquired. "I am Miss Tompkins," she said. "Oh. Any relation to Harold J. Tompkins?" "My father. He died last year." "Can I see your mother?" "Mother died a few months after Daddy did." "You'll do then." I stepped inside. Miss Tompkins seemed too surprised to protest. "I'm William Hagle," I said. "I want to help you." "Mr. Hagle, whatever it is--insurance--" "That's not it exactly," I told her. "I just want to help you. I only want to do whatever you want me to do." She stared at me, her eyes moving too quickly over my face. "I've never even seen you before, have I? Why do you want to help me? How?" "What's so damned hard to understand? I just want to help. I don't have any money, but I can work and give you my pay. You want me to clean up the basement, the yard? Got any painting to be done? Hell, I can even sew. Anything--don't you understand--I'll do _anything_ for you." * * * * * The girl was breathing too hard now. "Mr. Hagle, if you're hungry, I can find something--no, I don't think there is anything. But I can give you some money to--" "Damn it, I don't want your money! Here, I'll give you mine!" I wadded up the $6.38 cents I had left, plus one bus transfer, and put it on the top of a little bookcase next to the door. "I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but it's every penny I've got. Can't I do anything for you? Empty the garbage--" "We have a disposal," she said automatically. "Scrub the floors." "There's a polisher in the closet." "Make the beds!" I yelled. "You don't have a machine for _that_, do you?" The corners of Miss Tompkins' eyes drew up and the corners of her mouth drew down. She stayed like that for a full second, then smiled a strange smile. "You--you saw me on the street." She was breathing her words now, so softly that I could only just understand them. "You thought I was--stacked."