Frank had formed the habit of sitting at a small table somewhat isolated from the others where now and then he wrote an article or editorial. Hitherto it had unvaryingly been at his disposal, for the hour of Frank's reflection was not a busy one. Therefore he was just a mite annoyed to find his table tenanted by a woman. Perhaps his irritation was apparent; or, perchance, Aleta had a knack for reading faces, for she colored. "I--I beg your pardon. Have I got your place?" "N-no," protested Frank. "I sit here often ... that's no matter." "Well," she said; "don't let me drive you off. I'll not be comfortable.... Let's share it, then," she smiled; "tonight, at least." They did. Frank found her very like her mother--the smiling one of Darlton and Boice, Olympia entertainers of past years. One couldn't call her pretty, when her face was in repose. But that was seldom, so it didn't matter. Her smile was like a spring, a fountain of perennial good nature. And her eyes were trusting, like a child's. Frank often wondered how she had maintained that look of eager innocence amid the life she lived. Frank learned much of her past. She could barely remember the father, who was a circus acrobat and had been killed by a fall from a trapeze. Her mother had retired from the stage; she was doing needlework for the department stores and the Woman's Exchange. "Every morning she teaches me grammar," said Aleta. "Mother's never wanted me to talk slang like the other girls. She says if you're careless with your English you get careless of your principles. Mother's got a lot of quaint ideas like that." Again came her rippling laugh. Frank grew to enjoy her; look forward to the nightly fifteen minutes of companionship. They never met anywhere else. But when an illness held Aleta absent for a week the Dusty Doughnut seemed a lonesome place. Bertha twitted Frank upon his absent-mindedness one evening as he dined with her. By an effort he shook off his vagary of the other girl. He loved Bertha. But, for some unfathomed cause, she held him off. Never had she let him reach a declaration. "We're such marvelous friends!... Can't we always be that--just that?" * * * * * Things drifted on. Schmitz, as a Mayor, caused but small remark. He reminded Frank of a rustic, sitting at a banquet board and watching his neighbors before daring to pick up a fork or spoon. But Ruef went on building his fences. Union Labor was now a force to deal with. And Ruef was Union Labor. One of Robert's clients desired to open a French restaurant, with the usual hotel appurtenances. He made application in the usual manner. But the license was denied. Robert was astonished for no reason was assigned and all requests for explanation were evaded. A week or so later, Robert met the restaurateur. "Well, I've done it," said the latter, jovially. "Open Monday, Come around and eat with me." "But--how did you manage it?"