Mrs. O'Brien received her daughter with open arms.

"Ah, Rosie dear, I'm glad to see you! And I can't tell you the fuss they've all been making at your absence.... Yes, Geraldine darlint, sister Rosie's come back at last."

Rosie took the baby and hugged and kissed her as though she had not seen her for weeks. "And are you glad to see Rosie?" she crooned.

"She is that!" Mrs. O'Brien declared. "And himself, Rosie, was complainin' the whole evening about your not being here. And Terry, too, he kept askin' where you were. And Jarge Riley, Rosie! Why, Jarge is fairly lost without you! He was in early this morning and just now when I was startin' to get him his breakfast, he stopped me. And what for, do you think? He wanted to wait to see if you wouldn't be coming back. Why, Rosie, I do believe that b'y thinks that no one can boil coffee or fry eggs equal to yourself!"

Rosie glowed all over. "Ma, is he really waiting for me?... Here, Geraldine dear, you go to ma for a few minutes. Rosie's got to get Jarge Riley's breakfast. I'll be back soon, won't I, Ma?""And, Rosie dear, before you go, such a bit of news as I have: Ellen's got a new job! They sent for her from the college. Now I do say it's a fine compliment for any girl to be sent for like that. Ah, they know the stuff that's in Ellen! As I says to her last night——"

"Tell me the rest some other time," Rosie begged. "You know Jarge is waiting."

"To be sure he is," Mrs. O'Brien agreed. "He's in his room. Give him a call as you go by."

In answer to her summons George appeared at once, collarless and in shirtsleeves with the drowsiness of an interrupted nap in his eyes. He beamed on Rosie affectionately.

"I thought you'd be coming."

"It was awful good of you waiting for me, Jarge."

"Good—nuthin'! Guess I know who can cook in this house!"

Conscious worth need not be offensive. Rosie answered modestly: "Oh, I cook much better than I used to, Jarge. I learned ever so much from your mother. I know how to make pie now. We used to have pie every day in the country."

"I know." George sighed pathetically.

Rosie was all sympathy. "I'll make you a pie this week, honest I will. Which would you rather have, rhubarb or apple?"

George weighed the choice while Rosie set out his breakfast."Guess you might make it rhubarb this time," he decided at last; "and apple next time."

"Now then," Rosie said, pouring his coffee, "you eat and I'll sit down and talk to you. I wanted to talk to you last night, but you know I had to go off with poor Janet."

George looked at her seriously. "I don't like your staying over there all night. I don't think it's safe. Dave's all right when he's sober, but they say he ain't sober much nowadays."

"It was all right last night, Jarge. Janet had him in bed and asleep before I got there."

"Well, even so...." George grumbled on.

"H'm," Rosie remarked a little pointedly. "Er—do you remember, Jarge, what I was going to talk to you about last night?"

George looked at her inquiringly. "Was it anything special?"

"Don't you remember what you asked me to ask Danny Agin?"

"I didn't know I asked you to ask him anything." George spoke in candid surprise.

"Oh, Jarge, what a poor memory you've got!" Rosie shook her head despairingly. "You told me what a mess you had made of things with Ellen and you asked my advice about what you ought to do and told me to talk it over with Danny Agin. Now do you remember?"

George did not seem to remember things in just the order that Rosie gave them, but he was gallant enough not to say so and, furthermore, to show his acceptance of her version by an interested: "Oh, is that what you mean?"

Rosie leaned toward him eagerly. "Don't you want to hear what Danny said?"

"Sure I do."

"Well, Danny and me went over things very carefully and I agree with Danny and Danny agrees with me. So, if you've got any sense, you'll do just exactly what we tell you to."

George looked a little dubious. "Don't know as I'm so awful strong on sense. Shoot away, though. I'd like to hear what you want me to do."

Rosie began impressively: "Danny says that the mistake you're making is not going out and getting another girl. Ellen's so sure of you that of course she don't take the least interest in you. All she's got to do is crook her little finger and you're Johnny-on-the-spot. Now if you were to get another girl and treat her real nice, Ellen wouldn't be long in taking notice. That's the way girls are." Rosie wagged her head knowingly.

George dropped his knife. "Aw, shucks! Is that all you got to say?"

Rosie's manner turned severe. "Now, Jarge Riley, you needn't say, 'Aw, shucks!' What's more, I guess Danny Agin and me together have got more sense than you have any day and we don't think it's shucks! Now you listen to what I say and maybe you'll learn something."But George still seemed unwilling to learn. "Aw, what do I want to go chasing girls for? I don't like 'em, and besides, 'tain't nuthin' but a tomfool waste of time and money!"

Rosie was scornful. "Is it because you're afraid of spending a cent?"

George met the charge calmly. "I wouldn't be afraid to spend all I make on the right girl, but with all the places I got to put money, just tell me, please, what's the sense of my throwing it away on some girl I don't care beans about?"

"So's to get a chance at the girl you do care beans about!" Rosie was emphatic. "Now I tell you one thing Jarge Riley: I don't think much of Ellen and I think it would be a good deal better for you if she never would look at you, but you're in love with her and you think you've got to have her, and I've promised you I'd help you. Now: Are you going to be sensible or aren't you?"

George refused to commit himself. Instead he asked: "How much do you reckon this fool scheme would cost a fellow?"

Rosie was ready with a detailed estimate. "It would come to from five to thirty cents every day."

"Every day!" George was fairly outraged at the suggestion. "Do you mean to say you've got the cheek to expect me to go sporting some fool girl every day?"

Rosie was firm. "That's exactly what I mean. I suppose you think the way to make love to a girl is to give her an ice-cream soda once a month. Well, it just ain't!"

George continued obstinate. "I'm not saying I know how to make love to a girl because I don't and, what's more, I don't care. But I'll be blamed if I'm willing to do more than one ice-cream soda a month for any girl alive!"

Rosie caught him up sharply: "Not even for Ellen?"

"Ellen! Ellen's different! I'd like to do something for her every day of her life."

"H'm! What, for instance?"

"Well, I ain't got much money, so I can't do very big things, but I'd like to take her to the movies or on a street-car ride or buy her some peanuts or candy or all kinds o' little things like that. I know they ain't much in themselves, but if a fellow does them all the time, it seems to me a girl ought to know that he's thinking about her a good deal."

"Oh, Jarge, you're such a child!" Rosie smiled on him in womanly amusement. "First you say you don't know how to make love and then you tell just exactly how to do it! Now listen to me: The way to make love to any girl is to treat her just like you'd like to treat Ellen. If anything on earth is going to make Ellen wake up, it'll be just that. And the very things you know how to do are the very things I was going to tell you to do! A bag of peanuts is plenty for a walk and that's only five cents. Then a night when you go to the movies would be ten cents and, if it was hot, you'd probably want ten cents more for an ice-cream soda afterwards and that would make twenty cents. If you took a car ride and back, that would be twenty cents and a treat would be another ten cents. And you'd be getting your money's worth while you were doing it and perhaps you'd get Ellen, too."

George was not very happy over the prospect. "As you've got everything else fixed up for me," he grumbled, "I suppose you've got the girl picked out, too. But I tell you one thing: I won't take after one of them Slattery girls, no matter what you say! If a fellow was to give one of them an ice-cream soda once, he'd have to marry her!"

Rosie put out a quieting hand. "Now, Jarge, don't be silly! You don't have to take one of the Slattery girls or any other girl that you don't want to take. You can just suit yourself and no one's going to say a word to you.... What kind of girl do you think you'd like? Do you want a blonde? Well, there's Aggie Kearney, she's a blonde."

"Aw, cut out Aggie Kearney! What do you think I am!"

"Well, maybe you want a brunette. What about Polly Russell?"

"Aw, cut out Polly Russell, too! You know what I think of that whole Russell bunch!"

Rosie looked a little hurt. "I must say, Jarge, even if you don't want Polly, you needn't snap my head off. Make your own choice! I'm sure there are enough girls right in this neighbourhood for any man to pick from. How do you like 'em? Do you like 'em fat or do you like 'em thin? Or maybe you don't want an American girl. Well, there are those Italians around the corner and down further there's that nest of Yiddish. All you've got to do is make up your mind about the kind of girl you want. There's plenty of all kinds."

"Aw, get out! I tell you I don't want any of them!" By this time George had grown very red in the face and his voice had risen to a volume better suited to the outdoors than to a small room.

Rosie looked distressed. "You needn't talk so loud, Jarge. I'm not deaf.... I must say, though, after all the trouble I've taken, ... And poor old Danny Agin, too, ..." Rosie felt for her handkerchief.

"Well," George complained, "I don't see why you go offering me the worst old snags in town! Why don't you pick out a few nice ones?"

Rosie swallowed quite pathetically and blinked her eyes toward the ceiling. It has been observed that gazing fixedly at the ceiling very often conduces to inspiration. Apparently it was to be so with Rosie. The expression on her face slowly changed. She turned to George a little shyly.

"I was just wondering, Jarge, whether, maybe, I wouldn't do."

It must have been an inspiration! To attribute such a suggestion to anything else would be to credit Rosie with a depth of guile which only supreme feminine art could have compassed.

George at least saw no guile. His face glowed. He actually shouted in an exuberance of relief. "Would you, Rosie? That'd be fine! We'd have a bully time together!" Then he paused. "But, Rosie, do you think you're big enough? I wouldn't think Ellen would get jealous of a little girl like you."

Rosie shook her head reassuringly. "Don't you worry about me. I'm plenty big enough. Besides, I don't count. You're the only one that counts. All you've got to do is make love to almost any one. If it's some one you like, then it'll be all the easier for you."

"Well, you know I like you all right, Rosie." The heartiness in George's tone was unmistakable. "I just love to spend money on you, Rosie! That's a great idea! Who thought of it, Danny or you?"

"Not Danny," Rosie answered promptly. "I thought of it myself—I mean," she added, "I thought of it just now. And you think it's a good idea, do you, Jarge?"

"Good? You bet your life I think it's good! Why, do you know, Rosie, when you began talking about Aggie Kearney and Polly Russell and those Ginneys around the corner, you made me plumb sick! I was ready to throw up the whole thing! I sure am glad you happened to think about yourself on time!""H'm!" murmured Rosie.

"I mean it!" George insisted. "Let's start out tonight! What shall it be, a street-car ride or the movies?"

"Just as you say." Rosie, with sweet deference, put the whole thing into George's hands. "They're going to give the 'Two Orphans' at the Gem. Three reels. I saw the posters this morning. But you decide, Jarge. Whatever you say will be all right."

With a fine masterfulness George made the decision. "Well, I say movies for tonight." He reached across the table and patted Rosie's face. "Don't forget, kid, you're my girl now. And I tell you what: I'm going to show you a swell time!"

"It's just as you say, Jarge," Rosie murmured meekly.