Quicksand
panion for a lecturing female on her way to a convention.
“She wants,” Miss Ross told Helga, “someone intelligent, someone who can help her get her speeches in order on the train. We thought of you right away. Of course, it isn‘t permanent. She‘ll pay your expenses and there‘ll be twenty-five dollars besides. She leaves tomorrow. Here‘s her address. You‘re to go to see her at five o‘clock. It‘s after four now. I‘ll phone that you‘re on your way.”
The presumptuousness of their certainty that she would snatch at the opportunity galled Helga. She became aware of a desire to be disagreeable. The inclination to fling the address of the lecturing female in their face stirred in her, but she remembered the lone five-dollar bill in the rare old tapestry purse swinging from her arm. She couldn‘t afford anger. So she thanked them very politely and set out for the home of Mrs. Hayes-Rore on Grand Boulevard, knowing full well that she intended
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