She read it over as she walked along. It sounded very alluring to her unsuspicious ears, and she smiled a little at her cleverness in not showing it to Marion. “What a surprise it will be to her if I get it,” she whispered. Then once more she took out the clipping and read it over. “Wanted—Twenty young ladies with musical ability. Must be over sixteen and have graceful figures. Room 1019, Dusenbury Building.” “I am sure my figure is graceful enough,” she said. “Of course, I never did wear corsets, but I suppose I could. I expect they would make my waist a little smaller.” She put her hands on her hips as she walked along. She was a trifle more plump than the girls she had seen about the city. After considerable trouble she found the Dusenbury Building. It was a grim-looking structure, and a regular sky-scraper. Dollie was rushed up to the top floor at such speed that it made her head swim a little. She had not begun to get used to the velocity exhibited by an ambitious elevator. She wandered around the halls for some little time before she finally discovered a door with the number 1019 on it. She tapped on the door gently, but there was no response except a giggle or two from some one within, so summoning her courage she pushed it open. There were a dozen young ladies in the room, apparently waiting for some one. “Come right in, don’t be bashful,” cried one frowsy-headed girl. “His job-lots is passing on a strawberry blonde. He’ll be out in a minute. They are in the private office.” The other girls all tittered as Dollie smiled pleasantly. She sat down on the edge of a chair, with her heart beating wildly. “What do you suppose his game is, anyway?” asked one of the girls in a low voice. “Is it straight, do you think, or just another case of flim-flam?” “Give it up,” was the answer from the girl addressed. “Wait ’til blondie comes out. I hope it’s straight, tho’.” She sighed as she spoke and Dollie glanced at her quickly. She was pale and thin, and there was a hectic flush on her hollow cheeks. There was no shadow of doubt that she was a victim of consumption. Just then one of the girls who was sitting near the door to the private office, gave a little scream. “What do you think of that, girls! He’s got another door. We won’t so much as get a squint at blondie.” “That settles it, we’ve got to go in and face the music,” said the consumptive, “and if he insults us, we must smile and put up with it, of course. If we yell, he’ll call in an officer and have us arrested for blackmail.” The words were hardly out of her mouth before the private door opened, and a flashily-dressed man of about fifty years came out, twirling the ends of an enormous mustache. There was not a sound from the girls as he looked them over, although they each posed involuntarily and tried to look attractive. Suddenly his eye fell on Dollie, and he stared in amazement. The girl’s fresh beauty astonished him, it was so entirely unexpected.