"Oh, she got foolish the other day and took a dose of carbolic acid," was the answer. "She ain't burned bad--at least not as bad as I've seen lots of them. Don't give her any of that soft home talk and she'll get over it all right in a couple of days." With this the woman held the door open and motioned for me to leave. In the early morning, three days later, I happened to pass the same place. A wagon, painted black and without a name to designate its owner, was standing in the road at a side entrance. I stood watching for a few minutes. Presently the door opened. Four men came out carrying between them an undertaker's stretcher. On it lay a body covered with a white sheet. I approached and asked one who was dead. "Just one of the girls here," was the answer. Then he added: "Say, but she's an awful sight; she took carbolic." He pulled back the sheet. It was the girl whom the negress had said "got foolish." "Where are you taking her?" I asked. "Oh, she goes over to the county morgue. She ain't got any money and the house didn't want to pay for her burial. No one knows where her folks live and I don't expect they'd want her anyhow if they found out what she was doing up here. The students will get her, I suppose." "Hurry her up, Joe," broke in another one of the men at this juncture; "let us get away from here. The boss inside'll be sore if we stick around. He ain't anxious to advertise the fact that he'd had a dead one in his house." The men jumped on the wagon. The horses started on a trot with their burden towards the county morgue. * * * * * In one den is a girl who has saved $5,000 from the money she derived from the sale of her body. She is in a class by herself in this respect, for but a few of them save a cent. This girl was, a few years ago, a stenographer. She was ruined by her employer and finally, when he had tired of her, discharged from her position. She had saved nothing. Penniless and without friends, she heeded the advice of an evil companion and entered a house of prostitution. Every cent she could eke and scrape she has saved since she entered this den. Her hope was that she might be able to save enough so that she could go to the far west and live down her past life. But the grasp of the devil held her to her bargain. When the time came she found that she could not break off her unnatural habits. She could not be innocent and good again. So she stayed behind. "How long do you think you will be able to keep up this life?" I asked her. "Oh, four or five years, I guess," she answered between puffs of a cigarette she was smoking. "What are you going to do then?" "I'm not thinking about that time," she said. "When I get worn out and they tell me they don't want me here any more, I'll go somewhere--I'm not worrying where.