Dula came back. "He says 'Sure,'" he exclaimed. "'Come right down!' You'd better go down there this afternoon. That'll be just the thing for you. And when you are placed again, come around and see me. Where are you living?" Eugene gave him his address. "That's right, you're married," he added, when Eugene spoke of himself and Angela having a small place. "How is Mrs. Witla? I remember her as a very charming woman. Mrs. Dula and I have an apartment in Gramercy Place. You didn't know I had tied up, did you? Well, I have. Bring your wife and come to see us. We'll be delighted. I'll make a dinner date for you two." Eugene was greatly pleased and elated. He knew Angela would be. They had seen nothing of artistic life lately. He hurried down to see Benedict and was greeted as an old acquaintance. They had never been very chummy but always friendly. Benedict had heard of Eugene's nervous breakdown. "Well, I'll tell you," he said, after greeting and reminiscences were over, "I can't pay very much--fifty dollars is high here just at present, and I have just one vacancy now at twenty-five which you can have if you want to try your hand. There's a good deal of hurry up about at times, but you don't mind that. When I get things straightened out here I may have something better." "Oh, that's all right," replied Eugene cheerfully. "I'm glad to get that." (He was very glad indeed.) "And I don't mind the hurry. It will be good for a change." Benedict gave him a friendly handshake in farewell. He was glad to have him, for he knew what he could do. "I don't think I can come before Monday. I have to give a few days' notice. Is that all right?" "I could use you earlier, but Monday will do," said Benedict, and they parted genially. Eugene hurried back home. He was delighted to tell Angela, for this would rob their condition of part of its gloom. It was no great comfort to him to be starting in as a newspaper artist again at twenty-five dollars a week, but it couldn't be helped, and it was better than nothing. At least it was putting him back on the track again. He was sure to do still better after this. He could hold this newspaper job, he felt, and outside that he didn't care very much for the time being; his pride had received some severe jolts. It was vastly better than day labor, anyway. He hurried up the four flights of stairs to the cheap little quarters they occupied, saying when he saw Angela at the gas range: "Well, I guess our railroad days are over." "What's the trouble?" asked Angela apprehensively. "No trouble," he replied. "I have a better job." "What is it?" "I'm going to be a newspaper artist for a while on the _World_." "When did you find that out?" she asked, brightening, for she had been terribly depressed over their state. "This afternoon. I'm going to work Monday. Twenty-five dollars will be some better than nine, won't it?" Angela smiled. "It certainly will," she said, and tears of thanksgiving filled her eyes.