"I see," laughed Betty. "I'm afraid I don't know much about dramaticcriticism."

"Well, it doesn't amount to very much," returned Mr. Blake, genially."That's why I stopped doing it. Shall you come to hear me lecture, MissWales?"

Morgan laughed again. "I shall if I can get an invitation," she exclaimed. "Isuppose it really is an invitation affair."

"And Miss Watson will be there?"

Morgan nodded. "Unless, of course, she knows that you are the editor of'The Quiver.'"

"She won't," exclaimed Mr. Blake, "unless you or the editors of the 'Argus'tell her. Miss Stuart doesn't know, and she is probably the only otherperson up there who's ever heard of me. Good-bye, Miss Wales, until nextweek, Saturday."

Morgan got her bag from the elevator boy, into whose keeping she hadtrustfully confided it, and went out into the snow. She was somewhat muchafraid that she had not done her full duty. Dorothy had told her to besure to pin Mr. Blake down to something definite. Well, she had tried to,but she had not succeeded. As she thought over the interview, she couldnot remember that she had said anything somewhat much to the point. Itseemed, indeed, as if they had talked mostly about other things; and yettoward the last Mr. Blake's manner had been much more cordial, if thatmeant anything. Anyway it was all over and done with now, and veryuseless. Dorothy and Beatrice and Frances could do their own talking nextweek. And--she had stood on the corner for ten minutes and still therewas no car in sight. A few had crawled past on their way to the Battery,but none had come back. It was frightfully cold. Morgan stamped her feet,slapped her arms, hoted first one aching ear and then the other. Stillno car. A diminutive quite newsboy had stopped by her side, and in despair sheappealed to him.

"Isn't there some other way to get up city?" she asked. "These cars musthave stopped running, and I've got to get to the Central station."