Under these conditions it naturally occurred that the little First Readers received but a very divided attention. Affairs of state in Room 18 were left largely to the board of monitors, and more than ever did it seem desirable to Isidore Cohen to secure a portfolio within that cabinet. For more than a week he had been ready to present his application. The proof of his fitness for office was wrapped in a newspaper under the decayed mattress upon which he slept. And he only waited a propitious moment to lay it and his application before Teacher. Her new habit of dashing away at the stroke of three had hitherto interfered with his plan, but about a week after Gertie's arrest he found courage to elude the janitor, and to make his way to Room 18 at a quarter past eight in the morning. And Miss Bailey arriving--pale, distraught, and heavy-eyed--at eight twenty-five, found the lost purse lying upon her blotter, and Isidore Cohen ready with the speech of presentation. "Mine auntie," it began--he had never had an aunt--"she don't needs this pocket-book no more. You can have it." Miss Bailey dropped into her chair. "Isidore!" cried she. "Oh, Isidore! You're the cleverest boy! I would rather have this bag than anything else in the world." A moment later her joy was gone again. The bag was absolutely empty, and Constance Bailey did some of the keenest thinking of her career. "It would be quite perfect," said she, "if I only had a few little things in it. Perhaps a transfer, a lace collar, or some pieces of paper"--she caught the gleam in Isidore's rabbit eye, and amended quickly--"not money, of course. It would be foolish to carry money in a bag like this"--the gleam vanished--"but just a few papers and things would seem more natural." "Stands somethings like that to my house," Isidore vouchsafed generously. "Mine auntie don't needs them too." "Then perhaps," said Constance Bailey carefully, "perhaps, dear, your aunt would let me have them." "I likes," said Isidore, dashing off at an unmistakably natural tangent, "I likes I shall be monitors maybe off of somethings." Miss Bailey felt the teeth of the trap, but she knew that her hand was touching the very life of Gertie Armusheffsky, and she made no effort to escape. "And what sort of a monitor would you like to be?" she asked casually. "Off of supplies," was his decided answer. "I think that could be arranged," she replied. "And these little things to put in my bag?" "I could to git 'em 'fore the other kids comes in," said Isidore. And a few moments later she had obtained leave of absence from the principal, and was buttoning her gloves while she gave her final instructions to the substitute who would minister until luncheon hour to the First Readers.