These she laid carefully in a flat box, which she tied up into a neat parcel. Then she put on her plainest cloth suit, and a small, dark hat, and was ready to start. "Nan," she said, looking in at the library door, "what time do you want the motor?" "Oh, about eleven or twelve. Keep it as long as you like." "It's only ten now. I'll be back in less than an hour, I'm sure. Good-by." "Good-by," returned Nan. "Good luck to you!" She thought Patty's scheme ridiculous, but harmless, for she knew the girl well enough to know she wouldn't do anything that might lead her into an unpleasant position; but she feared that her boundless enthusiasm would urge her on beyond the bounds of her nervous strength. Though soundly healthy, Patty was high-strung, and stopped at no amount of exertion to attain a desired end. More than once this nervous energy of hers had caused physical collapse, which was what Nan feared for her now. But Patty feared nothing for herself, and going out to the waiting motor-car, she gave the chauffeur an address down in the lower part of Broadway. It was so unusual, that Miller hesitated a moment and then said, deferentially: "This is 'way downtown, Miss Patty; are you sure the number is right?" "Yes; that's all right," she returned, smiling; "go ahead." So he went ahead, and after a long ride southward, the car stopped in the crowded mercantile portion of lower Broadway. Patty got out, and looked a little apprehensively at the unfamiliar surroundings. "Wait for me," she said to Miller, and then turned determinedly to the door. Yes, the number was right. There was the sign, "Monongahela Art Embroidery Company," on the window. Patty opened the big door, and went in. She had fancied it would be like the shops to which she was accustomed, where polite floor-walkers stepped up and asked her wishes, but it was not at all like that. It was more like a large warehouse. Partitions that rose only part way to the ceiling divided off small rooms or departments, all of which were piled high with boxes or crates. The aisles between these were narrow, and the whole place was rather dark. Moreover, there seemed to be nobody about. Patty sat down in a chair and waited a few moments, but no one appeared, so she got up again. "Here's where I need my pluck," she said to herself, not frightened, but wondering at the situation. "I'll go ahead, but I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I know I'll fall into a treacle well." She traversed half the length of the long building, when she saw a man, writing in one of the small compartments. He looked up at her, and then, apparently without interest in her presence there, resumed his work. Patty was a little annoyed at what she thought discourtesy, and said: "I've come to answer your advertisement." "Fourth floor," said the man, indicating the direction by pointing his penholder across the room, but not looking up. "Thank you," said Patty, in a tone intended to rebuke his own lack of manners.