I've revised my opinion of the newspapers. The Star has done me a good turn, a great service. I had tried to borrow money of Cadge, for the third time, and she told me she had none--which was true, or she would have let me have it. Then she said:-- "Why don't you sell a story to some paper--either something very scientific, or else, 'Who's the Handsomest Man in New York?' or--" "I think I ought to get something from them, after all the stuff they've printed; but how? To whom do I go?" "Nobody! Heavens!" cried Cadge. "Want to create an earthquake on Park Row? You're a disturber of traffic. Let me manage. I know the ropes and it helps me at the office to bring in hot features. They might give you fifty for it, too." And I actually did get $50 for digging out of the text books an essay on Rats as Disseminators of Bubonic Plague; they only used a little of it, but the pictures and the signature and the nonsense about me as a scientist were the real thing, Cadge said. The money, the money, the money was the real thing to me! It has given me a breathing spell--. that and the hundred for signing a patent medicine testimonial; but I had to sacrifice more than half I got from both sources to pacify greedy creditors. And a month between remittances, and so little when they come! Father _can't_ refuse to mortgage; why doesn't he write to me? The day I took the article to Cadge I had a long talk with her and with Pros. Reid, who spends at the eyrie every hour he can spare. One must have some society or go crazy, though perhaps they aren't exactly what I'd choose if my kingdom had opened to me. Pros. has shrewd eyes that inspire confidence--gray eyes with the tired night work look in them. He talks amazing slang at times, at others not at all; and I wish every one might be as kind and thoughtful. I could think of nothing all the evening but my bills, and at last I was moved to ask him abruptly:-- "What can a girl do to get money, Pros.?" "'Pends on the girl." "This girl; a somewhat educated person; and grasping. One who wants much money and wants it right now." "Princesses don't earn money; they have it." "Suppose the Princess were enchanted--or--or something? Oh, you may not think me serious, but I really don't know what I shall do, if my ship doesn't come in pretty soon." He looked quizzically at me; he thinks I plead poverty as a joke; Cadge would never tell him how I have tried to borrow. "'Twould be a hard case, supposing it possible," he said, "because you would want a good deal of money, and because you'd be a bother to have 'round--too beautiful. You couldn't sell many newspaper stories, because you'd soon cease to be a novelty as a special, and would get a press ticket to City Hall Park. Reporting's another coloured horse altogether--poor pay, and takes training to get it. Beauty's a disadvantage even there; too much beauty. Tell you what you could do, though, if ever you _should_ want to earn money--go on the stage."