Here was "Jones." At first Helen thought him to be under the influence of drink. Then she saw that the man's erratic actions must be the result of some physical or mental disability. The old man could not walk in a straight line; but he tacked from one side of the walk to the other, taking long "slants" across the walk, first touching the iron balustrade of a step on one hand, and then bringing up at a post on the edge of the curb. He seemed to mutter all the time to himself, too; but what he said, or whether it was sense, or nonsense, Helen (although she walked near him) could not make out. She did not wish to offend the old man; yet he seemed so helpless and peculiar that for several blocks she trailed him (as he seemed to be going her way), fearing that he would get into some trouble. At the busy crossings Helen was really worried. The man first started, then dodged back, scouted up and down the way, seemed undecided, looked all around as though for help, and then, at the very worst time, when the vehicles in the street were the most numerous, he darted across, escaping death and destruction half a dozen times between curb and curb. But somehow the angel that directs the destinies of foolish people who cross busy city streets, shielded him from harm, and Helen finally lost him as he turned down one of the main stems of the town while she kept on into the heart of the East Side. And to Helen Morrell, the very "heart of the East Side" was right in the Goronsky flat on Madison Street. She had been comparing that home at the same number on Madison Street with that her uncle's house boasted on Madison Avenue, with the latter mansion. The Goronsky tenement was a _home_, for love and contentment dwelt there; the stately Starkweather dwelling housed too many warring factions to be a real home. Helen came, at length, to Madison Street. She had timed her coming so as to reach Jacob Finkelstein's shop just about the time Sadie would be going to dinner. "Miss Helen! Ain't I glad to see you?" cried Sadie. "Is there anything the matter with the dress, yet?" "No, Miss Sadie. I was downtown and thought I would ask you to go to dinner with me. I went with you yesterday." "O-oo my! I don't know," said Sadie, shaking her head. "I bet you'd like to come home with me instead--no?" "I would like to. But it would not be right for me to accept your hospitality and never return it," said Helen. "Chee! you must 'a' had a legacy," laughed Sadie. "I--I have a little more money than I had yesterday," admitted Helen, which was true, for she had taken some out of the wallet in the trunk before she left her uncle's house. "Well, when you swells feel like spendin' there ain't no stoppin' youse, I suppose," declared Sadie. "Do you wanter fly real high?" "I guess we can afford a real nice dinner," said Helen, smiling. "Are you good for as high as thirty-fi' cents apiece?" demanded Sadie. "Yes."