The place wore its morning quiet. The young bartender, with a stupid, pimpled face, was moping sleepily at the end of the bar; at Archie’s step, he looked up. The step was heard also in the "parlor" behind the bar, revealing through chenille portières its cheap and gaudy rugs and its coarse-grained oaken furniture, upholstered in plush of brilliant reds and blues. One of the two girls who now appeared had yellow hair and wore a skirt of solid pink gingham that came to her knees; her thin legs wore open-work stockings, her feet bulged in high-heeled, much-worn shoes. She wore a blouse of the same pink stuff, cut low, with a sailor collar, baring her scrawny neck and the deep hollows behind her collar bones. In her yellow fingers, with a slip of rice paper, she was rolling a cigarette. The other girl, who wore a dress of the same fashion, but of solid blue gingham, splotched here and there with starch, was dark and buxom, and her low collar displayed the coarse skin of full breasts and round, firm neck. The thin blonde came languidly, pasting her cigarette with her tongue and lighting it; but the buxom brunette came forward with a perfunctory smile of welcome. "Where’s Miss Clason?" Archie asked. "She’s gone out to Steve’s," said the brunette. The thin girl sank into a chair beside the portières and smoked her cigarette. The brunette, divining that there was no significance in Archie’s visit, and feeling a temporary self-respect, dismissed her professional smile and became simple, natural and human. "Did you want to see her?" she asked. "Yes, I’m looking for a certain party." "Who?" "Well, you know him, maybe--they call him Curly; Jackson’s his name." The girl looked at Archie, exchanged glances with the bartender; and then asked: "You a friend o’ hisn?" "Yes, I just got home, and I must find him." "Oh," said the girl, wholly satisfied. She turned to the bartender. "Was Mr. Jackson in to-day, Lew? He’s around, in and out, you know. Comes in to use the telephone now and then." Archie was relieved. "Tell him Dutch was in, will you?" he said. "Sure," replied the girl. "Maybe he’s in at Hunt’s," said the thin girl, speaking for the first time. "I was going there," said Archie. "I can run in and ask for you," said the brunette, in the kindly willingness of the helpless to help others. "Or, hold on,--maybe Teddy would know." "Never mind," said Archie, "I’ll go in to Hunt’s myself." "I’ll tell Mr. Jackson when he comes in," said the brunette, going to the door with Archie. "Who did you say?"--she looked up into Archie’s face with her feminine curiosity all alive. "Dutch." "Dutch who?" "Oh, just Dutch," said Archie, smiling at her insistence. "He’ll know." "Oh, hell!" said the girl, "what’s your name?" Archie looked down into her brown eyes and smiled mockingly; then he relented. "Well, it’s Archie Koerner. Ever hear of me before?"