“But, Madeleine, I never touched an iron in my life. I wouldn’t know how to go about it,” protested Judith Blount.

“It’s high time you learned then, child. It’s a very useful piece of knowledge, I assure you. You may begin on handkerchiefs first. They are easy, just a flat surface, and it doesn’t matter if you scorch one, especially as it’s your own. Test the iron like this, see. Pick it up with the holder, wet your finger and touch the bottom. If it gives out a sizzly sound, it’s fairly hot and may be used on something damp. It will surely scorch dry material. Always sprinkle. Rough-dry things can’t be ironed decently unless they have been sprinkled and allowed to get damp through and through.”

Madeleine Petit’s unceasing flow of conversation did not stop while Judith took her first lesson in ironing.

“You see,” continued Madeleine, “I’ve made quite a name for myself for doing up fine things and I really need an assistant, Judith. And, since you need the money, and I like you better than any girl in college, I want you to help me.”

Judith winced at the mention of poverty, but her face softened when Madeleine spoke of friendship.

After all, was it not good to have a friend, a real tried and devoted friend who had nothing to gain but friendship in return? Yes, Madeleine did talk a great deal. We all have our faults. Judith’s was a temper. She knew that. But Madeleine was good company, nevertheless, much better company than those false friends of Beta Phi days. She was charming and pretty and she had a heart of pure gold. Moreover, she was a lady, if she did talk so much.

Judith loved Madeleine. For the first time in her life she felt the stirrings of a really deep affection for another girl. It had quickened her parched soul like the waters of a freshet flowing through a thirsty land. Madeleine had first gained the respect of the proud, discontented girl by being always good-naturedly firm, and now she had gained her love.

Furthermore, Judith felt for the first time the pleasure of doing something for someone else. It was a matter of infinite secret joy to her that she had been able to help Madeleine with her studies. In a way she had constituted herself tutor to the little Southern girl; had criticized her themes; given her a boost in the dreaded French Literature and carried her over the blighting period of mid-year examinations. Madeleine had spent Christmas with the Blounts at a boarding house in New York and had given them a taste of Southern conversation, humor and anecdotes that had made that dreary time for them to blossom with new enjoyments.

And now Judith was learning to iron. At first she handled the iron quite awkwardly, but in a few minutes she became interested and the pile of handkerchiefs rapidly decreased.

“Of course, it isn’t as if either one of us expects to have to iron handkerchiefs always,” went on Madeleine, “but it doesn’t hurt us to know how, just the same, and I have always found that doing common things well only made one do uncommon things better. Now, I intend to be a Professor of Mathematics. I don’t know where nor how, but those are my intentions. There’s no ironing of jabots connected with mathematics, but somehow I feel that ironing jabots well makes me more proficient in mathematics.

“By the way, have you settled on anything to do yet? It’s time you began to think about it, unless you decide to take a Post Grad. course and be with me next year. That would be perfectly grand, wouldn’t it?”

Madeleine’s small pretty hands paused an instant in their busy fluttering over the garments she was sprinkling, and she smiled so sweetly upon Judith that the black-browed young woman felt moved beyond the power of speech and could only smile silently in reply.

Oh, heavens, it was good to have a friend! Madeleine had come at a time when she most needed her; when the whole world was nothing but a black, hideous picture and life was a dreary waste. Not her mother, not Richard, not Cousin Edwin, could take the place of Madeleine.

“You know I always said I wouldn’t work for a living, Madeleine,” she answered presently, gulping down these new, strange emotions.

“My dear, we all say such things, but it’s only talk. And, after all, it’s better to work than to be an object of charity. Think of making your own money; having it come in every month—say a hundred dollars, or even more—earned by you? Why, it’s glorious. It’s better than running across a gold mine by accident or inheriting a fortune, because you have done it yourself. I intend to earn a great deal of money. I shall rise from being a teacher to having a splendid school of my own. It will be the most fashionable school in the South and all the finest families will send their daughters there. And what will you be in my school, Judith? Because you must commence now to work up to that eminence. Will you be part owner with me?”

Judith laughed.

“You’re an absurd, adorable, sweet child,” she said, and went on ironing busily.

After all, life was not so desperately unpleasant.

There was a knock on the door. Judith put down the iron hastily and retreated to the window. She had not yet reached the point where she was willing for others to see her engaged in this menial work.

“Come in,” called Madeleine, without stopping an instant.

To Judith’s relief, however, it was Mrs. O’Reilly.

“A note for you, Miss Blount, and the man’s waiting for an answer.”

Judith tore open the envelope impatiently. It was a bill of two years’ running, amounting to nearly forty dollars, from the stationery and candy shop.

On the bottom she was requested to remit at once.

“Tell the man—anything, Mrs. O’Reilly. I can’t see him. That’s all.”

“Certainly, Miss,” said the Irish woman with a good-natured smile.

“These poor young college ladies was in hard luck just like the men sometimes,” she thought as she turned away.

Judith sat down and began to think. Richard was having a great struggle to keep her at college, her mother and himself at the boarding house, and her father in a sanitarium. It would really be unkind to burden him with that bill; but what was to be done?

“Is it that old stationery man again?” asked Madeleine, who had inherited a profound contempt for dunning shopkeepers.

“Yes, it is, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why don’t you put an advertisement in the ‘Commune’? You have no idea how it will bring in work. And then hang out a shingle, too. People have got to learn to recognize you as a wage-earning person before they come around and offer you things to do.”

“But what can I do? I don’t know how to iron well enough to take in laundry, like you.”

A voice outside called:

“Is this Miss Madeleine Petit’s room?”

“Come in. Can’t you see the name on the door?” answered Madeleine. “There’s only one Petit at Wellington and I’m the lady.”

Millicent Porter now entered.

She looked smaller and more shriveled than ever in a beautiful mink coat and cap and a velvet dress of a rich shade of blue that breathed prosperity in every fold.

“This is the region where signs are out asking for work, isn’t it?” she asked in a pleasantly patronizing, unctious voice.

“We don’t ask for work. We announce that we do it and the work comes,” replied Madeleine, eyeing the visitor with a kind of humorous pity.

“Be that as it may,” said Miss Porter, “I have some work I want done and I’m looking for a very competent and reliable person to do it.”

Judith winced at the word “reliable.”

“This isn’t a servants’ agency, you know, Miss Porter,” answered the spunky Madeleine. “Those words are generally used when one engages a cook or a housemaid. What is the work like?”

“I’m going to give an exhibition of my silver work at the George Washington Bazaar. I may sell some of it if I can get the price, and what I want is a skillful and re— or rather clever——” Madeleine blinked both eyes rapidly at the substitution—“person to help me get it in order. Most of it is awfully tarnished and it will need a good deal of polishing.”

“How much will you pay a skillful, clever person?” demanded Madeleine, determined to drive a good bargain and shrewdly guessing the kind of person she had to deal with.

“I’ll pay ten dollars,” answered Millicent glibly.

“What are the pieces like?”

“Oh, there are chains, necklaces, platters and bowls, and a lot of ivory things I have picked up in Europe that must be carefully washed.”

“We’ll do the work for fifteen dollars,” announced Madeleine. “No less.”

Judith could hardly preserve a grave countenance while this bargaining was going on between the rich Miss Porter and her funny little Southern friend.

“I think that’s too much,” declared Millicent.

“Not at all. The work requires care and, as you say, reliability. It might be stolen, you know.”

Madeleine snapped her eyes.

“Very well, then,” said Millicent in a resigned tone of voice. “It’s a great deal to pay, but I suppose I can’t do any better. I hear you do everything well, Miss Petit.”

“Miss Blount will do this,” answered Madeleine. “If I do things well, she does them better. Now, where do you want them cleaned? Down here or up at your place?”

“Oh, I would never let them out of my studio,” cried Millicent. “She must come there, where she can be under my eye.”

“But——” objected Judith, and paused at a glance from Madeleine.

It would be a crushing blow to her pride for her to go back to her old rooms and rub tarnished silver for this perfectly insufferable Millicent Porter. Yet fifteen dollars loomed up as quite a considerable sum, and, with five dollars added, could be paid to the stationery man on account.

Did Judith realize in her secret soul that the bitter dose she was now swallowing was only a dose of the same medicine she had once forced others to swallow?

“Very well, then,” said Madeleine, “we’ll give you as much of Friday and Saturday as will be necessary. We’ll take a lunch up on Friday so that we won’t have to come back for supper——”

She waited a moment, wondering if Millicent would not invite them to supper at the Beta Phi. Hospitality was so much a part of her upbringing that it was impossible to conceive it lacking in others.

“I thought Miss Blount was to do the work.”

“She will. I shall work under her as assistant rubber.”

So, the bargain was clinched and Millicent departed.

“Disgusting little reptile!” cried Judith when the sounds of her footsteps died away in the hall and the door banged behind her.

Could Judith forget that she herself had once belonged to that overbearing class?

“Don’t get all stirred up, Judith, it’s bad for your digestion,” ejaculated Madeleine. “That girl is nothing but a mere ripple on the surface. She’s ridiculous, but there’s no harm in her. I am really sorry for her, because she doesn’t belong anywhere. She could never make a friend, and she will never know what it is to be really liked. She thinks she’s a genius because she’s learned how to beat out a few tawdry silver chains, and as soon as she finishes one she locks it up in a box and takes it out about once a decade to look it over. Why, she’s just a poor, starved, little creature without a spark of generosity in her soul. What does she know about living and happiness?

“You and I know how to live,” Madeleine continued, flourishing her iron. “We’re in the procession. We’re moving on, learning and progressing. We’re going up all the time. I tell you the highest peak in the Himalayas is not higher than my ambitions. And I intend to take you with me, Judith, and when we get to the top we’ll look back and see poor, little Millicent Porter, shriveled to nothing at the bottom!”

Judith gave a strange, hysterical laugh. Suddenly she flew across the room and embraced her friend.

“You could make me do anything, Madeleine,” she cried. “Scale the Himalayas or cut a tunnel through them.” Taking her friend’s small, charming face between her two hands, she looked her in the eyes: “Madeleine,” she said, “did you know I used to be a blind girl? You have healed me. I am beginning to see things as they are.”