“All right,” said he, “come along!” And quite light of heart, afraid of nothing now, he led the Worm in and introduced him as, “My friend, Mr. Bates of _The 'Courier_.” Then, hearing his telephone ringing again, he hurried back to his own office. It would be Betty, of course. Well, as far as the office was concerned, it didn't matter now. She could call! Anybody could call.... He picked up the receiver. “Oh,” he murmured--“hello, Silvia! Wait a moment.” He got up and closed the door. “All right,” he said then. “What is it, little girl?” “Oh!” said she, “thank God, I've found you! Hy, something dreadful has almost happened. It has done such things to my pride! But I knew you wouldn't want me to turn to any one else for help, would you?” “Oh, no,” said he, with sudden queer misgivings, “of course not! Not for a minute!” “I knew you'd feel that way, dear. Are you dreadfully busy? Could you--I know it's a lot to ask--but could you, for me, dear, run out for five minutes?” “I will!” said he, with an emphasis aimed as much at himself as at her. “Where are you?” “I'm talking from the drug store across the street, right near you. I'll wait outside.” The misgivings deepened as Hy walked slowly out to the elevator and then out to the street. Hy would have to be classified, in the last analysis, as a city bachelor, a seasoned, hardened city bachelor. The one prospect that instantly and utterly terrifies a hardened city bachelor is that of admitting that another has a moral claim upon him. The essence of bachelordom is the avoidance of personal responsibility. Therefore it was a reserved, rather dignified Hy who crossed the street and joined the supple, big-eyed, conspicuous young woman in the perfect-fitting tailor suit. Another factor in Hy's mood, perhaps, was that the memory of Hilda Hansen's soft young lips against his own had not yet wholly died. He and Silvia walked slowly around the corner. “I don't know how to tell you,” she said in an unsteady voice. There were tears in her eyes, too. “Hy, it's awful! It's my--my furniture!” The tears fell now. She wiped them away. “They say positively they'll take it away tonight. Every stick. I've cried so! I tried to explain that I'm actually rehearsing with Cunningham. Before the end of the month I can take care of it easily. But--” Hy stopped short, stood on the curb, looked at her. His head was clear and cold as an adding machine. “How much would it take?” said he. “Oh, Hy.” She was crying again. “Don't talk in that way--so cold--” “I know,” he broke in, “but--” “It's fifty dollars. You see--” “I haven't got it,” said he. There was a perceptible ring in his voice. She looked at him, puzzled. “Silvia, dear--I'm fired.” “Fired? Hy--when?” “To-day. Chucked out. I haven't got half of that--to live on, even.” “Oh, my dear boy, you oughtn't to live in this careless way, not saving a cent--” “Of course I oughtn't. But I do. That's me.” “But what on earth--what reason--”