He strolled with her to the official door, and noted that her step was light and springy. At parting she turned a very melting gaze upon him, and at once he decided that if he could he would find her something. She was the most fascinating applicant that had yet appeared. The end of Chaffee Thayer Sluss was not far distant after this. Mrs. Brandon returned, as requested, her costume enlivened this time by a red-silk petticoat which contrived to show its ingratiating flounces beneath the glistening black broadcloth of her skirt. “Say, did you get on to that?” observed one of the doormen, a hold-over from the previous regime, to another of the same vintage. “Some style to the new administration, hey? We’re not so slow, do you think?” He pulled his coat together and fumbled at his collar to give himself an air of smartness, and gazed gaily at his partner, both of them over sixty and dusty specimens, at that. The other poked him in the stomach. “Hold your horses there, Bill. Not so fast. We ain’t got a real start yet. Give us another six months, and then watch out.” Mr. Sluss was pleased to see Mrs. Brandon. He had spoken to John Bastienelli, the new commissioner of taxes, whose offices were directly over the way on the same hall, and the latter, seeing that he might want favors of the mayor later on, had volubly agreed to take care of the lady. “I am very glad to be able to give you this letter to Mr. Bastienelli,” commented Mr. Sluss, as he rang for a stenographer, “not only for the sake of my old friend Mr. Barry, but for your own as well. Do you know Mr. Barry very well?” he asked, curiously. “Only slightly,” admitted Mrs. Brandon, feeling that Mr. Sluss would be glad to know she was not very intimate with those who were recommending her. “I was sent to him by a Mr. Amerman.” (She named an entirely fictitious personage.) Mr. Sluss was relieved. As he handed her the note she once more surveyed him with those grateful, persuasive, appealing eyes. They made him almost dizzy, and set up a chemical perturbation in his blood which quite dispelled his good resolutions in regard to the strange woman and his need of being circumspect. “You say you are living on the North Side?” he inquired, smiling weakly, almost foolishly. “Yes, I have taken such a nice little apartment over-looking Lincoln Park. I didn’t know whether I was going to be able to keep it up, but now that I have this position— You’ve been so very kind to me, Mr. Sluss,” she concluded, with the same I-need-to-be-cared-for air. “I hope you won’t forget me entirely. If I could be of any personal service to you at any time—”