Left alone, King O’Leary began to move restlessly about the studio, his hands behind his back. The sun was sparkling through the skylight—the same sun that was shining on distant tranquil seas and over green islands; and some of the old tugging was at his heart, for he moved over to the trunk which was always ready for an instant departure. He was on his knees, searching through old keepsakes that had about them the scent of other days, when the voice of Myrtle Popper called:

“Hello there! Anybody in?”

He turned from his knees, to find her looking down suspiciously.

“Say you look as though you were running off?”

King O’Leary laughed guiltily.

“Myrtle, you’ve caught me with the goods! Well, yes; I was getting restless.” He rose and looked down at her with a shake of his head. “Lord, wouldn’t I like to be lying on my back, sailing into Hong Kong harbor, watching the mast scraping against the blue, and the yards creaking lazily——”

She went to the trunk and shut it with a bang, placing a red-heeled slipper on it, with a neat flash of blue-silk ankle above.

“Say, how old are you?”

“Myrtle, you’re looking as fresh as the first roses,” said King O’Leary artfully. “And that’s a lovely bit of ankle, blue as the blue sky over Hong Kong.”

“How old are you?” repeated the girl sternly, who looked wonderfully enticing, with her coiled hair and young figure set off by the lace apron against the black working-dress.

“Thirty-six beautiful years—and one more.”

“Thirty-seven!” said the girl severely. “And what are you—nothing but a hobo!”

“Hold up!” said O’Leary suspiciously. “Is this a conspiracy? Have you been talking to Belle?”

“I have been talking to no one,” said Myrtle indignantly. “I say what I mean; and I mean it’s a crying shame to see a fine, upstanding man like you, King O’Leary, no further along than you were twenty years ago.”

“What the devil’s got into this place, anyhow?” said O’Leary, putting his hand to his forehead and sitting down before the storm.

“Why don’t you settle down?” said Myrtle, in a coaxing voice. “You can do things—you can handle men—Lord, they’d jump for you!”

“What would you have me do?” said O’Leary, not insensible to the compliment of being frowned at by a pretty face.

“You can’t go on bumming forever. Get hold of something and stick to it. You’ve got brains, and you’ve got the push, too. Why, there are thousands of men making their pile right here in little old New York that aren’t fit to hold your coat!”

By this time, King O’Leary’s early resentment had passed, and the Irish fondness for teasing had begun to twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, Myrtle dear, what have you been making up your mind I am to do?”

“Try a chance with a moving-picture house,” said Myrtle eagerly. “Honest, King, I mean it. I’ve been thinking of what you might do for days. I want to see you get ahead. There’s an old fellow called Pomello that has struck it rich and would do anything for me. Put some money in with him. Sure, I could arrange it in a minute.”

“My money is already invested,” said King O’Leary, telling a defensive fib.

“There are a dozen chances passing you every day, if you’ll only keep your eyes open,” said Myrtle, sitting on the sofa next to O’Leary, with such excitement in her great green eyes that King O’Leary was conscious of a pleasant conceit.

“Myrtle, I’m afraid you’re a determined woman,” he said, with a provoking smile.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” she said. “What would I be to-day if I couldn’t make up my mind? What you need is some one to push you on.”

“How would you like to be rolling up the Roo Royale—that’s in Paris—in a jingling open-front carriage, stretched back and watching the dukes and duchesses go by?” said King O’Leary maliciously.

“You’ll never be sensible,” said Myrtle, frowning.

He lay back, propped up against the pillows, watching the fine figure the girl made sitting there, her eyes sparkling with the busy schemes she was concocting in the back of her head, of whose one object he was pleasantly aware.

“What a pity I’m not the marrying kind,” he said slyly. “I believe you would make an alderman out of me.”

“Quit your kiddin’,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “and don’t think, because a girl’s a good-enough pal to want to see you get on, that she’s throwing herself at your head.”

He laughed hugely.

“Got me that time, all right!”

“Be sensible,” she said, relenting. “It ain’t often we get a chance to sit down alone. Lord, you don’t know what good it does me to slump in here for a quiet chat! You’re one of my own kind, King!”

O’Leary yielded to the temptation of the moment far enough to play with the coiled bracelet which lay against the girl’s wrist.

“Say, I’m rather curious about you,” he said, studying her gravely. “You see a queer side of life.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know that.”

“There’s one thing I have got,” she said, eager to seize the rare opportunity to lead him into a serious conversation, “and that’s a good, hard bump of common sense. Don’t make any mistakes about me and—and the others. I don’t lose my head, King.”

“Well, that’s a wonder, for you’re pretty enough to make the Pope himself lose his,” said O’Leary, patting her hand.

“Wish you meant it,” she said, looking at him seriously, “but, what with your blarney and your jollying, no one knows what you think. Yes, I like sassiety, but I’m not fooled. You bet I know where to pin the young fellows who take me out—and the old ones, too.”

“Should think you got into tight places sometimes,” said O’Leary, looking steadily into her eyes.

“Pooh! Men are like strange dogs,” she said contemptuously. “Walk right up to them, bold as life, and they’re gentle as ducks. Say—after all, there’s a lot of bunk about this bold, bad-man stuff. Honest, outside of a couple of freshies, men has been awfully decent to me. You know what I think? I think a lot of them are bored stiff with the women about them and just tickled to death to take out a girl who appreciates having a good time.”

O’Leary nodded.

“Men are rather decent. They go just about as far as a woman wants them to.”

“That’s right,” she said frankly, bobbing her head. “You get from them about what you want. Sure, I like the going out to the restaurants and the the-ayters, and I dote on dancing; but—say—that’s not all the game.”

“It isn’t, eh?”

“Not on your life; and little Myrtle knows it, and don’t you forget it. There’s a long ways to go after the mashers drop off. The main thing is settlin’ down to something that’s your own; findin’ the fellow who’s worth helping on, and startin’ to save.”

“Why, Myrtle, I thought you were a social butterfly!” said O’Leary, surprised and a little apprehensive as he thought he perceived the drift of these remarks.

“Butterfly nothing! Not when the right man comes up the street! Nix! Home and kiddies for me. I’m not ashamed to say it. That’s the real life. I’ve seen all I want of sassiety.”

“Well, Myrtle, you’ve got lots of chances,” he said, little reckoning how the future would play the cards. “I’ll bet some day I’ll see you rolling down the avenue in a fine limousine just like Mrs. Van Astorbilt.”

“Don’t tease me,” she said, so quietly that an embarrassing silence fell between them. She got up nervously. “I must be getting back to the job,” she said, glancing at her watch.

“You’re dining with me to-night,” he said, rising.

“Am I?” she said, putting her head back defiantly. “I’ve got an engagement—had it for a week.”

“You’ll break it, Myrtle darlin’?”

“Oh, will I?” she said impertinently. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

“I am,” he said, smiling and looking into her eyes so intently that she turned her glance away.

“Just you and me?” she said, in a quieter tone.

“No; it’s the bunch. Oh, you needn’t make a face. We’re dining at the Waldorf. Sure, I’m not jollying you this time. So get out your swell duds,” he said, coming nearer and playing with the lace collar which lay close to her throat, “for I want the girl that’s on my arm to put it all over the rest of them—savvy?”

“Do you think I can?” she said, with a quick breath, for he was close to her, and her eyes flashed with a sudden leap as they met his.

“Sure, Myrtle, if you look at me again like that, you do it at your own peril,” he said, wild Irish mischief dancing in his glance.

“Don’t you dare!” she said, throwing up her head; and there was something in her look that made him laugh, and after a little scuffle, kiss her.

“Mind, though, that was just in friendship,” he said, in pretended seriousness.

She stood away against the wall, breathless, her cheeks on fire and her eyes snapping, her head a little light from the fervor of his embrace.

“Friendship!” she said scornfully, with a quick breath, “A lot of friendship there was in that!”

When she had gone, King O’Leary stood shaking his head slowly, his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself as he glanced in perplexity at the sun which was sparkling through the skylight—the sun that shone over distant seas and green isles.

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