Thus they joked over Tavia’s tragedy; but all the time Dorothy’s agile mind was working hard to scheme out a way to help her chum over this very, very hard place. Just at this time, however, she had to give some thought to Garry Knapp. He took out three slips of pasteboard toward the end of the very pleasant meal and flipped them upon the cloth. “I took a chance,” he said, in his boyish way. “There’s a good show down the street—kill a little time. Vaudeville and pictures. Good seats.” “Oh, let’s!” cried Tavia, clasping her hands. Dorothy knew that the theatre in question was respectable enough, although the entertainment was not of the Broadway class. But she knew, too, that this young man from the West probably could not afford to pay two dollars or more for a seat for an evening’s pleasure. “Of course we’ll be delighted to go. And we’d better go at once,” Dorothy said, without hesitation. “I’m ready. Are you, Tavia?” “You dear!” whispered Tavia, squeezing her arm as they followed Garry Knapp from the dining-room. “I never before knew you to be so amenable where a young man was concerned.” “Is that so?” drawled Dorothy, but hid her face from her friend’s sharp eyes. It was late, but a fine, bright, dry evening when the trio came out of the theatre and walked slowly toward their hotel. On the block in the middle of which the Fanuel was situated there were but few pedestrians. As they approached the main entrance to the hotel a girl came slowly toward them, peering, it seemed, sharply into their faces. She was rather shabbily dressed, but was not at all an unattractive looking girl. Dorothy noticed that her passing glance was for Garry Knapp, not for herself or for Tavia. The young man had half dropped behind as they approached the hotel entrance and was saying: “I think I’ll take a brisk walk for a bit, having seen you ladies home after a very charming evening. I feel kind of shut in after that theatre, and want to expand my lungs.” “Good-night, then, Mr. Knapp,” Dorothy said lightly. “And thank you for a pleasant evening.” “Ditto!” Tavia said, hiding a little yawn behind her gloved fingers. The girls stepped toward the open door of the hotel. Garry Knapp wheeled and started back the way they had come. Tavia clutched her chum’s arm with excitement. “Did you see that girl?” “Why—yes,” Dorothy said wonderingly. “Look back! Quick!” Impelled by her chum’s tone, Dorothy turned and looked up the street. Garry Knapp had overtaken the girl. The girl looked sidewise at him—they could see her turn her head—and then she evidently spoke. Garry dropped into slow step with her, and they strolled along, talking eagerly. “Why, he must know her!” gasped Tavia. “Why didn’t he introduce her then?” Dorothy said shortly. “It serves me right.” “What serves you right?” “For allowing you, as well as myself, to become so familiar with a strange man.”