Kelly was called away and never finished the story, but Victor did. The girl, it seems, got several slices of ham one day from one of the chefs. She wrapped them carefully in a newspaper and later started up the stairs with the paper folded under her arm, evidently bound for the locker room. Kelly was standing at the foot of the stairs—“Somebody had tipped him off, see?” “What's the news to-day?” asked Kelly. “'Ain't had time to read the paper yet,” the girl replied. “Suppose we read it now together,” said Kelly, whereupon he slipped the paper out from under her arm and exposed the ham to view. “You're fired!” said Kelly. He sent her up to the Big Boss, and he did everything he could think of to get the girl to tell which chef had given her the ham. The girl refused absolutely to divulge that. The Big Boss came down to our kitchen. He asked each chef in turn if he had given the girl the ham, and each chef in turn said _No_. The Big Boss came back again in a few minutes. “We can put the detective force of the hotel on this job and find out within a few days who _did_ give that ham away and the man will be fired. But I don't want to do it that way. If the man who did it will confess right now that he did I promise absolutely he will not be fired.” A chef spoke up, “I did it.” Within fifteen minutes he was fired. * * * * * As ever, the day for leaving arrived. This time I gave notice to Kelly three days in advance, so that a girl could be found to take my place. “The Big Chief and I both said when we seen you, she won't stay long at this job.” “Why not?” I indignantly asked Kelly. “Ah, shucks!” sighed Kelly. Later: “Well, you're a good kid. You were making good at your job, too. Only I'll tell y' this. You're too conscientious. Don't pay.” And still later, “Aw, forget this working business and get married.” There was much red tape to leaving that hotel—people to see, cards to sign and get signed. Everyone was nice. I told Kelly—and the news spread—the truth, that I was unexpectedly going to Europe, being taken by the same lady who brought me out from California, her whose kids I looked after. If after six months I didn't like it in Europe—and everyone was rather doubtful that I would, because they don't treat workin' girls so very well in Europe—the lady would pay my way back to America second-class. (The Lord save my soul.) I told Schmitz I was going on the afternoon of the evening I was to leave. Of course he knew it from Kelly and the others. “Be sure you don't forget to leave your paring knife,” was Schmitz's one comment. Farewells were said—I did surely feel like the belle of the ball that last half hour. On the way out I decided to let bygones be bygones and sought out Schmitz to say good-by. “You sure you left that paring knife?” said Schmitz. CONCLUSION