“Now we'll take the scene in the vat of sulphuric acid. Is the tank ready? You go lie down and rest, Miss Adair. We won't want you for half an hour.” As Kedzie left the scene she found Dyckman waiting for her. He lifted his hat and spoke down at her: “Pardon me, but you're Miss Adair, aren't you?” “Yes,” said Kedzie, with as much modesty as a queen could show, incidentally noting that the man who bespoke her so timidly was plainly a real swell. She was getting so now that she could tell the real from the plated. “I heard them murdering you in there and I--Well, Mrs. Cheever asked me to look you up and see how you were getting along. I see you are.” “Mrs. Cheever!” said Kedzie, searching her memory. Then, with great kindliness, “Oh yes! I remember her.” “You've forgotten me, I suppose. I had the pleasure--the sad pleasure of helping you out of the water at Mrs. Noxon's.” “Oh, Lord, yes,” Kedzie cried, forgetting her rank. “You're Jim Dyckman--I mean, Mr. Dyckman.” “So you remember my name,” he flushed. “Well, I must say!” “I didn't remember to thank you,” said Kedzie. “I was all damp and mad. I've often thought of writing to you.” And she had. “I wish you had,” said Dyckman. “Well, well!” He didn't know what to say, and so he laughed and she laughed and they were well acquainted. Then he thought of a good one. “I pulled you out of the cold water, so it's your turn to pull me out of the hot.” “What hot?” said Kedzie. “I've been sent up here to learn the trade.” Kedzie had a horrible feeling that he must have lost his money. Wouldn't it be just her luck to meet her first millionaire after he had become an ex-? But Dyckman said that he had come to try and engage Mr. Ferriday, and that sounded so splendid to Kedzie that she snuggled closer. Ordinarily when a woman cowers under the eaves of a man's shoulder it is taken for a signal for amiabilities to begin. Dyckman could not imagine that Kedzie was already as bad as all that. She wasn't. She was just trying to get as close as she could to a million dollars. Her feelings were as innocent and as imbecile as those of the mobs that stand in line for the privilege of pump-handling a politician. Jim Dyckman kept forgetting that he was so rich. He hated to be reminded of it. He did not suspect Kedzie of such a thought. He stared down at her and thought she was cruelly pretty. He wanted to tell her so, but he found himself saying: “But I mustn't keep you. I heard somebody say that you were to lie down and rest up.” “Oh, that was only Mr. Ferriday. I'm not tired a bit.” “Ferriday. Oh yes, I'm forgetting him. He's the feller I've come to see.” “He can't be approached when he's working. Sit down, won't you?” He sat down on an old bench and she sat down, too. She had never felt quite so contented as this. And Dyckman had not felt so teased by beauty in a longer time than he could remember.