What’d you come here for anyway? Because you aren’t likely to get it.”

“No, so I see,” said Greg indignantly. “Well, suppose I happened to come to pay her rent?”

The woman brought her face closer to the opening.

“Who are you anyway?” she hissed. “I never saw you with her. Why should you pay her rent?”

“I’m only a friend, and you never did see me with her, but I might pay her rent just to save her having to listen to you when she is able to come back again. How much is her rent anyway?”

“It’s fifteen dollars!” said the woman belligerently, “and I won’t come down a cent for cash either!”

“Is that all?” said Greg, amusedly. “Well, I’ll pay it if you’ll make out a receipt in full to date.”

“She’ll have to pay in advance if she wants to keep the room,” added the woman.

“Well, that’s entirely up to her,” laughed Greg, “I hope she doesn’t want the room again. I certainly shall use my influence against it. I wouldn’t enjoy staying under such an unfriendly roof myself.”

“I’m not unfriendly,” said the woman, “but we have to look out for ourselves. We have to live!”

“Do we?” said Greg. “Well, I don’t know about that. Sometimes one can die, you know. Your little friend almost died tonight. However, bring on your receipt, and here’s your money. Are you going to let me come in while you sign it, or do I stay in the street?”

“I suppose you can come in,” said the woman grudgingly. “If you’re really going to pay.” She eyed the roll of bills in Greg’s hand greedily.

She sat down at an old, rickety table in the hall, wrote the receipt painstakingly, and handed it over. Greg folded it carefully and put it in his pocket, meanwhile glancing up the dismal staircase.

“Where is this room I’m paying for?” asked Greg. “Third story back?”

“Yes,” admitted the woman, “and cheap at that. My neighbor next door gets seven and a half for hers.”

As he walked out the door and down the street, Greg was thinking of his clean little shack on the hillside with the whispering pines all around. Somehow there was something terribly desolate and dreary in this rooming house. And was this the place where the little, white-faced girl had lived? For how long? he wondered.

But then, of course, the pocketbook might not have belonged to her. Or even if it had, the letter might not have been hers. He couldn’t tell a thing until he found out if Margaret was really her name. He had been a fool, of course, to pay for that room till he found out. Likely he was a fool anyway. But it was his money, wasn’t it? He had a right to spend it as he liked.

He found himself recalling the landlady’s words about the girl giving up her job because she didn’t like her employer. How much was there to that? Had any rotten bounder dared to be unpleasant to a girl like that?

Chapter 3

He walked around by the hospital again, as if just to see if the building would satisfy that vague anxiety that was in him.

Here he was the first night in his hometown, all mixed up in a strange girl’s troubles, all anxious for her life. That little, white face against his shoulder! He wanted her to get well. Poor kid! She must have been up against it somehow. He wished he knew more about it. Maybe he’d better read that letter after all, just glance at it.