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Late that afternoon she established herself in a room with a bath in West Twenty-ninth Street not far from Broadway.The exterior of the house was dingy and down-at-the-heel.But the interior was new and scrupulously clean.Several other young women lived there alone also, none quite so well installed as Susan, who had the only private bath and was paying twelve dollars a week.The landlady, frizzled and peroxide, explained--without adding anything to what she already knew--that she could have "privileges," but cautioned her against noise."I can't stand for it," said she."First offense--out you go.This house is for ladies, and only gentlemen that know how to conduct themselves as a gentleman should with a lady are allowed to come here."Susan paid a week in advance, reducing to thirty-one dollars her capital which Blond-Beard had increased to forty-three.

The young lady who lived at the other end of the hall smiled at her, when both happened to glance from their open doors at the same time.Susan invited her to call and she immediately advanced along the hall in the blue silk kimono she was wearing over her nightgown.

"My name's Ida Driscoll," said she, showing a double row of charming white teeth--her chief positive claim to beauty.

She was short, was plump about the shoulders but slender in the hips.Her reddish brown hair was neatly done over a big rat, and was so spread that its thinness was hidden well enough to deceive masculine eyes.Nor would a man have observed that one of her white round shoulders was full two inches higher than the other.Her skin was good, her features small and irregular, her eyes shrewd but kindly.

"My name's"--Susan hesitated--"Lorna Sackville.""I guess Lorna and Ida'll be enough for us to bother to remember," laughed Miss Driscoll."The rest's liable to change.You've just come, haven't you?""About an hour ago.I've got only a toothbrush, a comb, a washrag and a cake of soap.I bought them on my way here.""Baggage lost--eh?" said Ida, amused.

"No," admitted Susan."I'm beginning an entire new deal.""I'll lend you a nightgown.I'm too short for my other things to fit you.""Oh, I can get along.What's good for a headache? I'm nearly crazy with it.""Wine?"

"Yes."

"Wait a minute." Ida, with bedroom slippers clattering, hurried back to her room, returned with a bottle of bromo seltzer and in the bathroom fixed Susan a dose."You'll feel all right in half an hour or so.Gee, but you're swell--with your own bathroom."Susan shrugged her shoulders and laughed.

Ida shook her head gravely."You ought to save your money.I do.""Later--perhaps.Just now--I _must_ have a fling."Ida seemed to understand.She went on to say: "I was in millinery.But in this town there's nothing in anything unless you have capital or a backer.I got tired of working for five per, with ten or fifteen as the top notch.So I quit, kissed my folks up in Harlem good-by and came down to look about.As soon as I've saved enough I'm going to start a business.That'll be about a couple of years--maybe sooner, if I find an angel.""I'm thinking of the stage."

"Cut it out!" cried Ida."It's on the bum.There's more money and less worry in straight sporting--if you keep respectable.

Of course, there's nothing in out and out sporting.""Oh, I haven't decided on anything.My head is better.""Sure! If the dose I gave you don't knock it you can get one at the drug store two blocks up Sixth Avenue that'll do the trick.Got a dinner date?""No.I haven't anything on hand."

"I think you and I might work together," said Ida."You're thin and tallish.I'm short and fattish.We'd catch 'em coming and going.""That sounds good," said Susan.

"You're new to--to the business?"

"In a way--yes."

"I thought so.We all soon get a kind of a professional look.

You haven't got it.Still, so many dead respectable women imitate nowadays, and paint and use loud perfumes, that sporting women aren't nearly so noticeable.Seems to me the men's tastes even for what they want at home are getting louder and louder all the time.They hate anything that looks slow.

And in our business it's harder and harder to please them--except the yaps from the little towns and the college boys.A woman has to be up to snuff if she gets on.If she looks what she is, men won't have her--nor if she is what she looks."Susan had not lived where every form of viciousness is openly discussed and practiced, without having learned the things necessary to a full understanding of Ida's technical phrases and references.The liveliness that had come with the departure of the headache vanished.To change the subject she invited Ida to dine with her.

"What's the use of your spending money in a restaurant?"objected Ida."You eat with me in my room.I always cook myself something when I ain't asked out by some one of my gentleman friends.I can cook you a chop and warm up a can of French peas and some dandy tea biscuits I bought yesterday."Susan accepted the invitation, promising that when she was established she would reciprocate.As it was about six, they arranged to have the dinner at seven, Susan to dress in the meantime.The headache had now gone, even to that last heaviness which seems to be an ominous threat of a return.

When she was alone, she threw off her clothes, filled the big bathtub with water as hot as she could stand it.Into this she gently lowered herself until she was able to relax and recline without discomfort.Then she stood up and with the soap and washrag gave herself the most thorough scrubbing of her life.

Time after time she soaped and rubbed and scrubbed, and dipped herself in the hot water.When she felt that she had restored her body to some where near her ideal of cleanness, she let the water run out and refilled the tub with even hotter water.In this she lay luxuriously, reveling in the magnificent sensations of warmth and utter cleanliness.Her eyes closed;a delicious languor stole over her and through her, soothing every nerve.She slept.