"I suppose you don't deal much in emotions," he added. She neither smiled nor answered. He laughed at the idea himself. "Jane Judd, conversationally, you are about as satisfactory as 'a bloomin' idol made of mud.'" "You do not engage me to talk," she answered, in a low rather dull voice. "You engage me to work." "So I do, but some day I am going to pay you double rates for your thoughts. A silent woman is a menace. I'm afraid of you." A rat-a-tat-tat came on the door. "Come in," called Jerry gaily. An odd, boyish-looking girl stuck in her head. "At home, Jerry? What's the celebration?" "I've got a job, Bobsie, a big, cash-in-hand kind of a job, and I'm trying to raise a spark of human response in the frozen buzzum of Jane Judd." "Oh, is this your Jane day? Hello, Jane," she added, seating herself comfortably. "Go ahead, Jerry, let's hear." He told her the story, in some detail, with touches of his own. He was so boyishly elated over it that she was fired with some of his enthusiasm. "But look here, Jerrymander, how about the big mural designs? How about my portrait? This pageant won't get you anywhere." "Won't it? You should have heard me tell the Abercrombie Brendon that I would try my best to put off my portrait sitters. You, my dear Bobs, are my portrait sitters." "It will ruin your winter's work. They'll pick your brains, that crowd, and take your time, and you can whistle for your money." "I wasn't in kindergarten yesterday, Bobs. I know a thing or two about the dear rich. They will pay-as-we-go, one good big deposit down in advance." "Get you all out of the work spirit--make you yearn for the flesh pots." "Well, Bobs, I never did choose a diet of figs and thistles." "That's just the trouble with you. It's nip and tuck all the time between the artist and the senses, Jerry. That uptown crowd can ruin you for good." "Dear old Bobs! If they ruin me, I'll come to you for a scourge. Let's go to Buffanti's for a celebration. We'll get Chat and Jinny for a foursome, what? Are the Chatfields at home to-day, Jane?" he added. "Yes; I was there this morning," she answered. "Come on, old wailing banshee!" he cried. "All right; but I don't like it, just the same. This very night may mark the grave of Jerome Paxton, painter." "Well, think up some jolly epitaph and we'll sing it in our cups. Don't dree, Bobs; you're as bad as Jane." At his mention of her, they both glanced at the silent bent figure, so indifferent to their presence. "Time to close up, Miss Judd; we're off to dinner," said Jerry. She quietly rose and put away the mended things. She set things to rights, as noiseless as a wraith. The other two went on talking and laughing, until she came toward them in her hat and coat. "What do I owe you?" Jerry asked. "Just for to-day." "I haven't any change. Can you let it go until next time?" "No," she said simply. "Well, old Shylock, here's five. Consider yourself paid as long as that lasts."