By the next evening she had spent all but a dollar and some few cents of the seven dollars and a quarter that had remained to her. With her bundles under her aching arm, she was returning to her lodging-house to prepare for work, when she stopped at the "Ladies' Entrance" of the corner-saloon and, going into a bare apartment for a drink of whiskey, found, seated at a table, as the only other customer, the girl of whom she had asked her questions on the night before. The child smiled as pleasantly as her hardened face would permit. "Hello, kid," she said. "How's tricks?" "Hello," replied Mary. "Sit down here," said the girl. Mary accepted her invitation, and gave the grinning waiter her order. "Got settled?" asked the girl, when the waiter had come and gone again. "Yes," replied Mary, "I got a room." "Where?" "The fifth door from here." The girl whistled. She was proud of her knowledge. "That old cat Charlotte Michaels!" she commented. "I bet she stuck you." "She charges me seven dollars a week for a third-floor back hall-bedroom." "Hell, that's a steal. Come next door to where I am, next week. There'll be a better room there, then, for a dollar less." Mary looked at the child. It seemed strange that she should be about to ask of one perhaps two years her junior for directions in the ways of the street; but she saw that the childishness before her was childishness without innocence, was even lined and scarred by wisdom. She wondered about her own face. "I'm goin' to start out to-night," she said. In the etiquette of this trade the workers ask no questions of one another and offer few biographies save those fictitious ones, the threadbare, unimaginative lies, which they reserve for their inquisitive purchasers. Mary's entertainer, therefore, put forward no inquiries save one: "New in this town?" she asked. "I'm new in the business," said Mary. The child eyed her doubtingly. "Come off," she good-naturedly replied. "Yes, I am. I was in a house onc't, but I'm new to this, an' I ain't just sure how to go about it." "Oh," said the child, "it's dead easy to learn the curves, but it's the hardest job in the world. Can't your fellow put you wise?" "My fellow?" "Sure, your fellow, your friend, your sweetheart. Honest, now; ain't you workin' for nobody?" "No." "Well, you ought to be. Most all the girls is. You can't get along right without one. Who's goin' to go your bail when you're pinched?" "Will I be pinched?" "About as often as onc't a month, kid--unless you let the cop call onc't a week." "I guess I can stand him," said Mary. She was past the stage of objections. "You'll have to pay him anyhow, you know." "I thought I might have to." "Then you thought dead right. Why don't you get a fellow? They's lots of them. They got political pulls. Of course, they don't leave you much money for yourself, but they certainly can fix things up for you." "Have you a fellow?" asked Mary.