and asked the person behind me what he wanted and I found myself away from the window and out of line.
"I set my things down and reloaded them, and then I asked a cab-driver who was standing close by, if he knew where 1944 Iuka Avenue was.
"'Nope,' he said. 'Never heard of such a street.' Then he got out a little vest-pocket book, and went to studying it. 'Um-m-um, um-hum, here it is,' he said. 'What did you say was the number?'
"'1944.'
"'Couldn't be that, lady. Street's only two blocks long and goes east and west,—couldn't run higher than two hundred.'
"I turned away. I wasn't worried, for I knew I could go to a hotel for the night, if it was necessary, but I hated to be worsted. So I got in line again, and when I reached the window once more, there was no one behind me. The man didn't recognize me at first; but when I said '1944 Iuka Avenue,' he scowled.
"'I told you that you had the wrong number, lady,' he said, and began checking his checks.
"'But it's the right number,' I said. 'I've been writing letters there for two years.'
