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 more sympathetic absorption, to welcome the idea with enthusiasm, and to speak the first word after Miss Pinchon had spoken her last.

I say, do it, she urged flatly.

I dunno. Could we? queried Robin.

That's it, was Hugo's dubious contribution.

It beats vaudeville. . . . Mrs. Hugo's excitement was contagious. . . . You're always fussin', about bookin', always wonderin' who's goin' to crib your act, and you're always out of town eatin' punk food in rotten boardin'-houses. When Miss Consuelo first come here I said it was a chance. Here's your chance, boys, was my words. Well, here it is. Take it.

It looks like it, mother, Robin put forward feebly.

It looks all right, Hugo remarked doubtfully.

It is all right, Miss Pinchon asseverated warmly. You leave it to me and you'll see.

Having secured the consent of the brothers, none the less binding because it was somewhat unhearty—the governess belonged to that group of persons who believe that one should take immediate advantage of a permission, even when it is given with bad grace, lest it may be withdrawn—Miss Pinchon secured the lease of a hall on East Fiftieth Street, and left an order with a painter on First Avenue, whose ordinary occupation was the decoration of Jacobean chests and Queen Anne tables in the