But
now she knew; and it seemed to her that her only future was the
streets. Again her chance had come; again she had thrown it
away. If there were anything in her--anything but mere vain
hopes--that could not have occurred. In her plight anyone with
a spark of the divinity that achieves success would have
scored. "I belong in the streets," said she. Before dinner
she had gone out and had bought a ninety-five cent night-dress
and some toilet articles. These she now bundled together again.
She changed to her street dress; she stole down the stairs.
She was out at the side door, she was flying through the side
street toward the Bowery. "Hi!" shouted someone behind her.
"Where you going?" And overtaking her came her staunch friend
Albert, the waiter. Feeling that she must need sympathy and
encouragement, he had slipped away from his duties to go up to
her. He had reached the hall in time to see what she was about
and had darted bareheaded after her.
"Where you going?" he repeated, excitedly.
A crowd began to gather. "Oh, good-by," she cried. "I'm
getting out before I'm told to go--that's all. I made a
failure. Thank you, Albert." She put out her hand; she was
still moving and looking in the direction of the Bowery.
"Now you mustn't be foolish,", said he, holding on tightly to her
hand. "The boss says it's all right. Tomorrow you do better.
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