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 “I am going to begin one of my plays tonight,” I said, “so I must be going.” And with that I took my departure.

A few days later Miss Ashton telephoned to me, asking me to call at four in the afternoon. I did.

“You have been very good to me,” she said, hesitatingly, “and I thought I would tell you. I am going to leave the stage.”

“Yes,” said I, “I suppose you will. They usually do when there’s so much money.”

“There is no money,” she said, “or very little. Our money is almost gone.”

“But I am told,” said I, “that he has something like two or ten or thirty millions—I have forgotten which.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I will not pretend that I do not. I am not going to marry Mr. North.”

“Then why are you leaving the stage?” I asked, severely. “What else can you do to earn a living?”

She came closer to me, and I can see the look in her eyes yet as she spoke.

“I can pick ducks,” she said.

We sold the first year’s feathers for $350. Rh