THE VERY TIRED GIRL
"Why, I've broken my engagment," she exclaimed, trying hard to speak tamely and reserve every possible fraction of her artificial energy.
"Oh, yes," she smiled wanly, "I could n't afford to be engaged! I could n't afford the time. I could n't afford the money. I could n't afford the mental distraction. I'm working again now, but it's horribly hard to get back into the mood. My drawing has all gone to smash. But I 11 get the hang of it again pretty soon."
"You look in mighty poor shape to work to night," said the Political Economist. "What makes you go?"
"What makes me go?" cried Noreen, with an extravagant burst of vehemence. "What makes me go?—Why, if I make good to-night on those Fire-Department Pictures I get a Hundred Dollars, as well as the assurance of all the Republican cartooning for the next city election. It's worth a lot of money to me!"
"Enough to kill yourself for?" probed the Man.
Noreen's mouth began to twist. "Yes—if you still owe for your automobile coat, and your black evening gown, and your room rent and a few other trifles of that sort. But come on, if you'll promise not to talk to me till it's all over." Like a pair of youngsters they scurried down the stairs, jumped
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