somehow　brought　back　his　resolve　to　carry　on；　to　pass　out；　if　so　he
  must；　fighting。　　He　would　knock　on　yonder　window　and　ask　the
  beautiful　lady　slavey　for　a　bit　of　her　supper！
  CHAPTER　IV
  Kitty　Conover　had　inherited　brains　and　beauty；　and　nothing　else　but
  the　furniture。　　Her　father　had　been　a　famous　reporter；　the　admiration
  of　cubs　from　New　York　to　San　Francisco；　handsome；　happy…go…lucky；
  generous；　rather　improvident；　and　wholly　lovable。　　Her　mother　had
  been　a　comedy　actress　noted　for　her　beauty　and　wit　and　extravagance。
  Thus　it　will　be　seen　that　Kitty　was　in　luck　to　inherit　any　furniture
  at　all。
  Kitty　was　twenty…four。　　A　body　is　as　old　as　it　is；　but　a　brain　is　as
  old　as　the　facts　it　absorbs；　and　Kitty　had　absorbed　enough　facts　to
  carry　her　brain　well　into　the　thirties。
  Conover　had　been　dead　twenty　years；　and　Kitty　had　scarcely　any
  recollections　of　him。　　Improvident　as　the　run　of　newspaper　writers
  are；　Conover　had　fulfilled　one　obligation　to　his　family　…　he　had　kept
  up　his　endowment　policies；　and　for　eighteen　years　the　insurance　had
  taken　care　of　Kitty　and　her　mother；　who　because　of　a　weak　ankle　had
  not　been　able　to　return　to　the　scenes　of　her　former　triumphs。　　In
  1915　this　darling　mother；　whom　Kitty　loved　to　idolatry；　had　passed　on。
  There　was　enough　for　the　funeral　and　the　cleaning　up　of　the　bills；
  but　that　was　all。　　The　income　ceased　with　Mrs。　Conover's　demise。
  Kitty　saw　that　she　must　give　up　writing　short　stories　which　nobody
  wanted；　and　go　to　work。　　So　she　proceeded　at　once　to　the　newspaper
  office　where　her　father's　name　was　still　a　tradition；　and　applied
  for　a　job。　　It　was　frankly　a　charity　job；　but　Kitty　was　never　to
  know　that　because　she　fell　into　the　newspaper　game　naturally；　and
  when　they　discovered　her　wide　acquaintance　among　theatrical
  celebrities　they　switched　her　into　the　dramatic　department；　where
  she　had　astonishing　success　as　a　raconteur。　　She　was　now　assistant
  dramatic　editor　of　the　Sunday　issue；　and　her　pay　envelope　had　four
  crisp　ten…dollar　notes　in　it　each　Monday。
  She　still　remained　in　the　old　apartment；　sentiment　as　much　as
  anything。　　She　had　been　born　in　it　and　her　happiest　days　had　been
  spent　there。　　She　lived　alone；　without　help；　being　one　of　that
  singular　type　of　womanhood　that　is　impervious　to　the　rust　of
  loneliness。　　Her　daily　activities　sufficed　the　gregarious
  instincts；　and　it　was　often　a　relief　to　move　about　in　silence
  Among　other　things　Kitty　had　foresight。　　She　had　learned　that　a
  little　money　in　the　background　was　the　most　satisfying　thing　in
  existence。　　So　many　times　she　and　her　mother　had　just　reached　the
  insurance　check；　with　grumbling　bill　collectors　in　the　hall；　that
  she　was　determined　never　to　be　poor。　　She　had　to　fight　constantly
  her　love　of　finery　inherited　from　her　mother；　and　her　love　of　good
  times　inherited　from　her　father。　　So　she　established　a　bank　account；
  and　to　date　had　not　drawn　a　check　against　it；　which　speaks　well　for
  her　will　power；　an　attribute　cultivated；　not　inherited。
  Kitty　was　as　pleasing　to　the　eye　as　a　basket　of　fruit。　　Her　beauty
  was　animated。　　There　was　an　expression　in　her　eyes　and　on　her　lips
  that　spoke　of　laughter　always　on　tiptoe。　　An　enviable　inheritance；
  this；　the　desire　to　laugh；　to　be　searching　always　for　a　vent　to
  laughter；　it　is　something　money　cannot　buy；　something　not　to　be
  cultivated；　a　true　gift　of　the　gods。　　This　desire　to　laugh　is　found
  invariably　in　the　tender　and　valorous；　and　Kitty　was　both。　　Brown
  hair　with　running　threads　of　gold　that　was　always　catching　light；
  slate…blue　eyes　with　heavy　black　fringe…Irish；　colour　that　waxed
  and　waned；　and　a　healthy；　shapely　body。　　Topped　by　a　sparkling
  intellect　these　gifts　made　Kitty　desirable　of　men。
  Kitty　had　no　beau。　　After　the　adolescent　days　beaux　ceased　to
  interest　her。　　This　would　indicate　that　she　was　inclined　toward
  suffrage。　　Nothing　of　the　kind。　　Intensely　romantic；　she　determined
  to　await　the　grand　passion　or　go　it　alone。　　No　experimental
  adventures　for　her。　　Be　assured　that　she　weighed　every　new　man　she
  met；　and　finding　some　flaw　discarded　him　as　a　matrimonial
  possibility。　　Besides；　her　unusual　facilities　to　view　and　judge
  men　had　shown　her　masculine　phases　the　average　woman　would　have
  discovered　only　after　the　fatal　knot　was　tied。　　She　did　not　suspect
  that　she　was　romantical。　　She　attributed　her　wariness　to　common
  sense。
  If　there　is　one　place　where　a　pretty　young　woman　may　labour　without
  having　to　build　a　wall　of　liquid　air　about　her　to　fend　off　amatory
  advances　that　place　is　the　editorial　room　of　a　great　metropolitan
  daily。　　One　must　have　leisure　to　fall　in　love；　and　only　the　office
  boys　could　assemble　enough　idle　time　to　call　it　leisure。
  Her　desk　faced　Burlingame's；　and　Burlingame　was　the　dramatic　editor；
  a　scholar　and　a　gentleman。　　He　liked　to　hear　Kitty　talk；　and　often
  he　lured　her　into　the　open；　and　he　gathered　information　about
  theatrical　folks　that　was　outside　even　his　wide　range　of　knowledge。
  A　drizzly　fog　had　hung　over　New　York　since　morning。　　Kitty　was
  finishing　up　some　Sunday　special。　　Burlingame　was　reading　proofs。
  All　day　theatrical　folks　had　been　in　and　out　of　this　little
  ten…by…twelve　cubby…hole；　and　now　there　would　be　quiet。
  But　no。　　The　door　opened　and　an　iron…gray　head　intruded。
  〃Will　I　be　in　the　way？〃
  〃Lord；　no！〃　cried　Burlingame；　throwing　down　his　proofs。　　〃Come　along
  in；　Cutty。〃
  The　great　war　correspondent　came　in　and　sat　down；　sighing　gratefully。
  Cutty　was　a　nickname；　he　carried　and　smoked　…　everywhere　they　would
  permit　him　…　the　worst…looking　and　the　worst…smelling　pipe　in
  Christendom。　　You　may　not　realize　it；　but　a　nickname　is　a　round…about
  Anglo…Saxon　way　of　telling　a　fellow　you　love　him。　　He　was　Cutty；　but
  only　among　his　dear　intimates；　mind　you；　to　the　world　at　large；　to
  presidents；　kings；　ambassadors；　generals；　and　capitalists　he　is
  known　by　another　name。　　You　will　find　it　on　the　roster　of　the　Royal
  Geographical；　on　the　title　page　of　several　unique　books　on　travel；
  jewels；　and　drums；　in　magazines　and　newspapers；　on　the　membership
  roll　of　the　Savage　in　London　and　the　Lambs　in　New　York。　　But　you　will
  not　find　it　in　this　story；　because　it　would　not　be　fair　to　set　his
  name　against　the　unusual　adventures　that　crossed　his　line　of　life
  with　that　of　the　young　man　who　wore　the　tobacco　pouch　suspended　from
  his　neck。
  Tall；　bony；　graceful　enough　except　in　a　chair；　where　his　angles
  became　conspicuous；　the　ruddy；　weather…bitten　complexion　of　a
  deep…sea　sailor；　and　a　sailor　man's　blue　eye；　the　brow　of　a　thinker
  and　the　mouth　of　a　humourist。　　Men　often　call　another　man　handsome
  when　a　woman　knows　they　mean　manly。　　Among　men　Cutty　was　handsome。
  Kitty　considerately　rose　and　gathered　up　her　manuscript。
  〃No；　no；　Kitty！　　I'd　rather　talk　to　you　than　Burly；　here。　　You're
  always　reminding　me　of　that　father　of　yours。　　Best　comrade　I　ever
  had。　　You　laugh　just　like　him。　　Did　your　mother　ever　tell　you　that
  old　Cutty　is　your　godfather？〃
  〃Good　gracious！〃
  〃Fact。　　I　told　your　dad　I'd　watch　over　you。〃
  〃And　a　fat　lot　of　watching　you've　done　to　date；〃　jeered　Burlingame。
  〃Couldn't　help　that。　　But　I　can　be　on　the　job　until　I　return　to　the
  Balkans。〃
  Kitty　laughed　joyously　and　sat　down；　perhaps　a　little　thrilled。　　She
  had　always　admired　Cutty　from　afar；　shyly。　　Once　in　a　blue　moon　he
  had　in　the　old　days　appeared　for　tea；　and　he　and　Mrs。　Conover　would
  spend　the　balance　of　the　afternoon　discussing　the　lovable　qualities
  of　Tommy　Conover。　　Kitty　had　seen　him　but　twice　during　the　war。
  〃Every　so　often；〃　began　Cutty；　〃I　have　to　find　listeners。　　Fact。　　I
  used　to　hate　crowds；　listeners；　but　those　ten　days　in　an　open　boat；
  a　thousand　miles　from　anywhere；　made　me　gregarious。　　I'm　always
  wanting　company　and　hating　to　go　to　bed；　which　is　bad　business　for
  a　man　of　fifty…two。〃　　Cutty's　ship　had　been　torpedoed。
  To　Kitty；　with　his　tired　eyes　and　weather…bitten　face；　his　bony；
  gangling　body；　he　had　the　appearance　of　a　lazy　man。　　Actually　she
  knew　him　to　be　a　man　of　tremendous　vitality　and　endurance。　　Eagles
  when　they　roost　are　heavy…lidded　and　clumsy。　　She　wondered　if　there
  was　a　corner　on　the　globe　he　had　not　peered　into。
  For　thirty　years　he　had　been　following　two　gods　…　Rumour　and　War。
  For　thirty　years　he　had　been　the　slave　of　cables　and　telegrams。
  Even　now　he　was　preparing　to　return　to　the　Balkans；　where　the　great
  fire　had　started　and　where　there　were　still　some　threatening　embers
  to　watch。
  Cutty　was　not　well　known　in　America；　his　reputation　was　European。
  He　played　the　game　because　he　loved　it；　being　comfortably　fortified
  with　worldly　goods。　　He　was　a　linguist　of　rare　attainments；
  specializing　in　the　polyglot　of　southeastern　Europe。　　He　came　and
  went　like　cloud　shadow。　　His　foresight　was　so　keen　he　was　seldom
  ordered　to　go　here　or　there；　he　was　generally　on　the　spot　when　the
  orders　arrived。
  He　was　interested　in　socialism　and　its　bewildering　ramifications；
  but　only　as　an　analytical　student。　　He　could　fit　himself　into　any
  environment；　interview　a　prime　minister　in　the　afternoon　and　take
  potluck　that　night　with　the　anarchist　who　was　planning　to　blow　up
  the　prime　minister。
  Burlingame；　an　intimate；　often　exposed　for　Kitty's　del