“It isn’t worth a cent,” she said. “I don’t want you to offer me money.... Or anything....” She laid both hands against her forehead as though her head ached, and sat huddled up, elbows resting on her knees. Presently she yawned. “Please excuse me,” she murmured, “I seem to be tired.” There was a long silence. Annan turned his head to see if his friend Coltfoot still waited. Not discovering him, he inspected his watch. Surprised, he lit a match to make certain of the time; and discovered that he had been talking with this girl for more than an hour and a half. He said to her in his pleasant, persuasive voice: “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” She looked up, white and tired: “I’m not afraid of anybody.” “Well, you’re not entirely right. However, if you’re not afraid of me, suppose I help you find a room to-night. You can afford a room now.” She shook her head. “You intend to stay here?” “Yes, to-night.” “You’d better not stay here with a hundred and twenty dollars in your pocket.” “I shan’t take money from you.” “Do you want me to lose five hundred dollars?” “How?” she asked, bewildered by the sudden impatience in his voice. “If I write the story I get six hundred. I won’t write it unless you take your commission.” She said nothing. “Come,” he said, almost sharply. “I’m not going to leave you here. You need a bath, anyway. You can’t get a good rest unless you have a bath.” He sprang up from the grass, took her hand before she could withdraw it, and drew her forcibly to her feet. “Maybe you’re twenty,” he said, “but some cop is likely to take you to the Arsenal as a lost child.” She seemed so startled that he reassured her with a smile,--stooped to pick up her hat and satchel, still smiling. “Come on, little pilgrim,” he said, “it’s two o’clock in the morning, and the Temple of Wisdom is closed. Bath and bed is your best bet.” She pinned on her hat mechanically, smoothed her wrinkled dress. Then she looked up at him in a dazed way. “Ready?” he asked gently. “Yes. What do you want me to do?” “Let’s go,” he said lightly, and took her by the hand again. Slowly through starry darkness he guided her between prone shapes on the grass, and so along the asphalt, east, until the silvery lamps of Fifth Avenue stretched away before them in endless, level constellations. He was beginning to wonder where to take her at such an hour. But to the sort of mind that was Annan’s, direct method and simple solution always appealed. He came to a swift conclusion,--came to it the more easily because it was an amusing one. “You’re not afraid of me, you say?” he repeated. She shook her head. “You seem kind.... Should I be?” “Well, not in my case,” he said, laughing.... “We’ll take that taxi--” He hailed it, gave directions, and seated himself beside her, now keenly amused. “Little pilgrim,” he said, “you’re going to have a good scrub, a good sleep in a good bed, and a jolly good breakfast when you wake up. _What_ do you think of that!”