"It's a shame for you to go around town without a nurse," O'Rourke teased her. "It was decided a long time ago that Billings was to be the next United States Senator from the glorious State of New York. A little accident like this can't be allowed to interfere." "It's a rotten shame," Cowan said. He was old enough not to have to try to appear blasé. "They're going too strong--putting over a crook like that on the people. Everybody with any memory knows his record. In the good old days when yellow journalism was just beginning, before we got so respectable we couldn't print the truth, we showed Billings up--how he came through for the railroads on that Death Avenue grade crossing." "Oh, that's ancient history. It's only six months ago--" another reporter began. One after another they added details to the Ex-Governor's record of infamy. But that afternoon's paper contained a eulogistic article on his patriotic achievement. An editorial which Yetta knew O'Rourke had written praised him to the skies, and said the people of the State were to be congratulated that so worthy a man had consented to accept the nomination. Yetta could not understand the psychology of these men who, having in hand the evidence to defeat an unworthy candidate for public office, did not use it. This was worse than cynicism--it was shameful. As she was leaving the office a few days later, Cowan rode down in the elevator with her. "If you don't mind, Miss Rayefsky," he said, when they had dodged the cars and had safely reached City Hall Park, "I'd like to give you a little advice. Perhaps I'm butting in where I'm not wanted. But you see, my youngest daughter is older than you are. And I guess breaking into a new job and a new crowd isn't the easiest thing in the world for a girl. I won't mind if you do snub me." "Let's sit down a minute," Yetta said. "I'd like to talk to you. I certainly do feel lost." "Well--" He was evidently embarrassed. He seemed to give up hope of being tactful and dove into his subject. "I overheard one of the men say that you'd been to a dinner at Maud Ripley's. She's a clever woman. But I'd not like to see one of my daughters tie up with her." "I didn't enjoy myself," Yetta said. "I'm not going again." "Good. That's all I had to say. She probably wouldn't do you any harm--certainly wouldn't try to. But newspaper men don't think much of her--except her brain. Excuse me for butting in." He started to get up, but Yetta detained him. She was very deeply touched by his kindly interest in her. "There are a lot of things I would like to ask you, if you've the time."