Cinderella Jane. Marjorie Benton Cooke
design the whole thing, and direct it. Draw your plans and submit your terms. You are elected right now."
"You are in earnest?"
"Never more so."
"Then accept my services as a poor return for your excellent tea."
"Nonsense. That is a pretty speech, but you have to earn your own living, don't you?"
"Alas, yes."
"Then there is no reason why you should donate time and brains for nothing. This is a business proposition. Will you take it?"
"With both hands and a grateful heart."
"You'll have to use both lobes of that boasted brain," she laughed. "What shall I be?"
"Herodias, beautiful wife of King Herod," said Jerry without hesitation. "We'll give you a costume that will dazzle 'em!"
"You shall paint me in it."
"Delighted."
"This has certainly been a lucky day for me. I'll call the directors in the morning, Mr. Paxton. We'll make our plans while you work out yours. Then we'll meet with you, and appoint our committees at once. Can you begin right away?"
"If I can postpone some portrait sittings. I shall do my best."
"If they are women sitters put them in the pageant, that will keep them busy. We must have you at once."
"That's an idea. Au revoir. You have given me an eventful afternoon. My thanks."
As he walked down the avenue toward his studio, Jerry's mind was in a whirl. The tap of his feet on the sidewalk made a time: "If I put this through, I've arrived. If I put this through, I've arrived." It was dusk when he climbed to his quarters and he hummed as he went. He threw open the door and rushed in. The big room was dark, save in the far corner, where a lamp was lit, with the shade off, so that an ugly glare lighted the face of the woman who sat beside it, mending socks.
"Ah, Miss Jane Judd, is that you?"
"Good afternoon," she answered, not looking up.
Jerry sang gaily as he dumped his belongings on the divan. He lit a cigarette, and laughed aloud involuntarily.
"Have you ever had delirium tremens, Miss Judd?" he demanded. She looked up without reply. "I've got a case right now."
She went on with her work. He glanced at her, marked how the shadow from the lamp accentuated the bold modelling of her face, bringing out its mask-like quality.
"I suppose you don't deal much in emotions," he added.
She neither smiled nor answered. He laughed at the idea himself.
"Jane Judd, conversationally, you are about as satisfactory as 'a bloomin' idol made of mud.'"
"You do not engage me to talk," she answered, in a low rather dull voice. "You engage me to work."
"So I do, but some day I am going to pay you double rates for your thoughts. A silent woman is a menace. I'm afraid of you."
A rat-a-tat-tat came on the door.
"Come in," called Jerry gaily.
An odd, boyish-looking girl stuck in her head.
"At home, Jerry? What's the celebration?"
"I've got a job, Bobsie, a big, cash-in-hand kind of a job, and I'm trying to raise a spark of human response in the frozen buzzum of Jane Judd."
"Oh, is this your Jane day? Hello, Jane," she added, seating herself comfortably. "Go ahead, Jerry, let's hear."
He told her the story, in some detail, with touches of his own. He was so boyishly elated over it that she was fired with some of his enthusiasm.
"But look here, Jerrymander, how about the big mural designs? How about my portrait? This pageant won't get you anywhere."
"Won't it? You should have heard me tell the Abercrombie Brendon that I would try my best to put off my portrait sitters. You, my dear Bobs, are my portrait sitters."
"It will ruin your winter's work. They'll pick your brains, that crowd, and take your time, and you can whistle for your money."
"I wasn't in kindergarten yesterday, Bobs. I know a thing or two about the dear rich. They will pay-as-we-go, one good big deposit down in advance."
"Get you all out of the work spirit—make you yearn for the flesh pots."
"Well, Bobs, I never did choose a diet of figs and thistles."
"That's just the trouble with you. It's nip and tuck all the time between the artist and the senses, Jerry. That uptown crowd can ruin you for good."
"Dear old Bobs! If they ruin me, I'll come to you for a scourge. Let's go to Buffanti's for a celebration. We'll get Chat and Jinny for a foursome, what? Are the Chatfields at home to-day, Jane?" he added.
"Yes; I was there this morning," she answered.
"Come on, old wailing banshee!" he cried.
"All right; but I don't like it, just the same. This very night may mark the grave of Jerome Paxton, painter."
"Well, think up some jolly epitaph and we'll sing it in our cups. Don't dree, Bobs; you're as bad as Jane."
At his mention of her, they both glanced at the silent bent figure, so indifferent to their presence.
"Time to close up, Miss Judd; we're off to dinner," said Jerry.
She quietly rose and put away the mended things. She set things to rights, as noiseless as a wraith. The other two went on talking and laughing, until she came toward them in her hat and coat.
"What do I owe you?" Jerry asked.
"Just for to-day."
"I haven't any change. Can you let it go until next time?"
"No," she said simply.
"Well, old Shylock, here's five. Consider yourself paid as long as that lasts."
"I don't wish to do that. I'll bring you change."
"Bother you, Jane Judd; what difference does it make whether you get it all at once, or in driblets?"
"Here, Jerry, I've got it even. You owe me," Bobs said.
"All right; much obliged."
Jane hesitated a moment, then took it with a bow, and went to the door.
"Good-night, Jane Judd," said Bobs.
"Good-night," the woman answered mechanically.
"Night," said Jerry, searching for cigarettes among his impedimenta.
"Queer creature, that," Bobs mused.
"What's that?"
"Jane Judd. What do you suppose she thinks of us all?"
"God knows, and I care as little as He does."
"I care. I'd like to know her. She's like steel, clean-cut, shining, efficient, silent, unbreakable."
"Is she? I've never noticed," said Jerry indifferently.
"She knows all our secrets, our economies, our loves, and hates. She mends us up, keeps us in order. Jane Judd is the law and order of our set. She glides among us, and we say everything we know before her, as if she were a wall."
"Gog and Magog! Do I have to listen to you ramble on about Jane Judd? She interests me about as much as a Wheeler and Wilson sewing machine. Come on to dinner."
Bobs rose and stretched herself luxuriously, with a yawn.
"Man is the most incomprehensible animal evolved from protoplasm," she remarked.
"That remark doesn't seem to have any point,