"Las' stop!" he shouted impatiently, as the car came to a groaning standstill away out in a shabby suburb, where several huge factories were in process of erection. Miss Tripp started up and looked out at the sodden fields and muddy, half-frozen road. Two or three dirty, dispirited-looking men boarded the car and sat down heavily, depositing their tools at their feet. Then the driver and conductor, who had swung the trolley around, and accomplished other official duties incident to the terminal, entered, closing the doors behind them with a professional crash. Both stared at Miss Tripp who had subsided into her corner again. "Say, Bill; nice weather for a trolley-ride--heh?" observed the motor-man, shifting an obvious quid of something in his capacious mouth. "Aw--you shut up, Cho'ley!" growled his superior. Bill thoughtfully obeyed, drumming with his feet on the floor and pursing up his tobacco-stained lips in an inaudible whistle. Presently he glanced at his big nickel watch and shook his head at the conductor. "A minute an' a half yet, b' mine," he said; "made a quick trip out." Then he cast another side-long glance at the one lady passenger. "Got carried past, I guess," he suggested with a wink. "Better look sharp for the right street on the way back, Bill." "You bet," observed the other, with his hand on the bell-rope. "I'm on the job all right." Elizabeth Brewster was giving her youngest son his supper when her friend Miss Tripp entered her hospitable door. "Oh, Evelyn!" she began, with an eager air of welcome; "I was hoping you would come home early to-night, Marian Stanford was here this afternoon; she wants to go---- But Evelyn, dear, what ever is the matter? You're as white as a ghost. Don't you feel well?" Miss Tripp valiantly plucked up a wan smile. "I am perfectly well," she declared; "but, Betty dear, could you give me a cup of tea? I was so--busy and--hurried to-day that I forgot all about my luncheon, and I just this minute realised it." Elizabeth hurried into the kitchen on hospitable cares intent and Evelyn sank wearily into a chair. Her head was swimming with weariness and the lack of food; cold, discouraged drops crowded her blue eyes. Richard quietly absorbing bread and milk from a gay china bowl gazed at her with a round speculative stare. "Cwyin'?" he observed in a bird-like voice. [Illustration: "Cwyin'?" he observed in a bird-like voice] "No, dear," denied Miss Tripp, winking resolutely. "What made you think of such a thing, precious?" "'Cause it's--it's naughty to cwy." "I know it, dear; and I'm going to smile; that's better; isn't it?" Her somewhat hysterical effort after her usual cheerful expression did not appear to deceive Richard. He waved his spoon charged with milk in her general direction. "I'm a dood boy," he announced with pride. "I eat my shupper an' I don't cwy."