"What did I give you a retainer for?" demanded the girl from Sunset Ranch, smiling.

"True," he replied, his own eyes dancing; "but there is a saying among lawyers that the feminine client does not really come to a lawyer for advice; rather, she pays him to listen to her talk."

"Isn't that horrid of him?" cried Jess, unable to keep still any longer.

"As though we girls talked any more than the men do. I should say not!"

But Helen agreed to let Dud govern her future course in trying to untangle the web of circ.u.mstance that had driven her father out of New York years before. As Dud said, somebody was guilty, and that somebody was the person they must find.

It encouraged Helen mightily to have someone talk this way about the matter. A solution of the problem seemed so imminent after she parted from the fledgling lawyer and his sister, that Helen determined to hasten to their conclusion certain plans she had made, before she returned to the West.

For Helen could not remain here. Her uncle's home was not the refined household that dear dad had thought, in which she would be sheltered and aided in improving herself.

"I might as well take board at the Zoo and live in the bear's den,"

declared Helen, perhaps a little harsh in her criticism. "There are no civilizing influences in _that_ house. I'd never get a particle of 'culture' there. I'd rather a.s.sociate with Sing, and Jo-Rab, and the boys, and Hen Billings."

Her experience in the great city had satisfied Helen that its life was not for her. Some things she had learned, it was true; but most of them were unpleasant things.

"I'd rather hire some lady to come out to Sunset and live with me and teach me how to act gracefully in society, and all that. There are a lot of 'poor, but proud' people who would be glad of the chance, I know."

But on this day--after she had left her riding habit at a tailor's to be brushed and pressed, and had made arrangements to make her changes there whenever she wished to ride in the morning--on this day Helen had something else to do beside thinking of her proper introduction to society. This was the first day it had been fit for her to go downtown since she and Sadie Goronsky had had their adventure with the old man whom Sadie called "Lurcher," but whom Fenwick Grimes had called "Jones."

Helen was deeply interested in the old man's case, and if he could be helped in any proper way, she wanted to do it. Also, there was Sadie herself. Helen believed that the Russian girl, with her business ability and racial sharpness, could help herself and her family much more than she now was doing, if she had the right kind of a chance.

"And I am going to give her the chance," Helen told herself, delightedly.

"She has been, as unselfish and kind to me--a stranger to her and her people--as she could be. I am determined that Sadie Goronsky and her family shall always be glad that Sadie was kind to the 'greenie' who hunted for Uncle Starkweather's house on Madison Street instead of Madison Avenue."

After luncheon at the Starkweathers' Helen started downtown with plenty of money in her purse. She rode to Madison Street and was but a few minutes in reaching the Finkelstein store. To her surprise the front of the building was covered with big signs reading "Bankrupt Sale! Prices Cut in Half!"

Sadie was not in sight. Indeed, the store was full of excited people hauling over old Jacob Finkelstein's stock of goods, and no "puller-in"

was needed to draw a crowd. The salespeople seemed to have their hands full.

Not seeing Sadie anywhere, Helen ventured to mount to the Goronsky flat.

Mrs. Goronsky opened the door, recognized her visitor, and in shrill Yiddish and broken English bade her welcome.

"You gome py mein house to see mein Sarah? Sure! Gome in! Gome in! Sarah iss home to-day."

"Why, see who's here!" exclaimed Sadie, appearing with a partly-completed hat, of the very newest style, in her hand. "I thought the wet weather had drowned you out."

"It kept me in," said Helen, "for I had nothing fit to wear out in the rain."

"Well, business was so poor that Jacob had to fail. And that always gives me a few days' rest. I'm glad to get 'em, believe me!"

"Why--why, can a man fail more than once?" gasped Helen.

"He can in the clothing business," responded Sadie, laughing, and leading the way into the tiny parlor. "I bet there was a crowd in there when you come by?"

"Yes, indeed," agreed Helen.

"Sure! he'll get rid of all the 'stickers' he's got it in the shop, and when we open again next week for ordinary business, everything will be fresh and new."

"Oh, then, you're really not out of a job?" asked Helen, relieved for her friend's sake.

"No. I'm all right. And you?"

"I came down particularly to see about that poor old man's spectacles,"

Helen said.

"Then you didn't forget about him?"

"No, indeed. Did you see him? Has he got the prescription? Is it right about his eyes being the trouble?"

"Sure that's what the matter is. And he's dreadful poor, Helen. If he could see better he might find some work. He wore his eyes out, he told me, by writing in books. That's a business!"

"Then he has the prescription."

"Sure. I seen it. He's always hoping he'd get enough money to have the gla.s.ses. That's all he needs, the doctor told him. But they cost fourteen dollars."

"He shall have them!" declared Helen.

"You don't mean it, Helen?" cried the Russian girl. "You haven't got that much money for him?"

"Yes, I have. Will you go around there with me? We'll get the prescription and have it filled."

"Wait a bit," said Sadie. "I want to finish this hat. And lemme tell you--it's right in style. What do you think?"

"How wonderfully clever you are!" cried the Western girl. "It looks as though it had just come out of a shop."

"Sure it does. I could work in a hat shop. Only they wouldn't pay me anything at first, and they wouldn't let me trim. But I know a girl that ain't a year older nor me what gets sixteen dollars a week tr.i.m.m.i.n.g in a millinery store on Grand Street. O' course, she ain't the _madame_; she's only a.s.sistant. But sixteen dollars is a good bunch of money to bring home on a Sat.u.r.day night--believe me!"

"Is that what you'd like to do--keep a millinery shop?" asked Helen.

"Wouldn't I--just?" gasped Sadie. "Why, Helen--I dream about it nights!"

Helen became suddenly interested. "Would a little shop pay, Sadie? Could you earn your living in a little shop of your own--say, right around here somewhere?"

"Huh! I've had me eye on a place for months. But it ain't no use. You got to put up for the rent, and the wholesalers ain't goin' to let a girl like me have stock on credit. And there's the fixtures--Aw, well, what's the use? It's only a dream."

Helen was determined it should not remain "only a dream." But she said nothing further.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HAT SHOP

"Them folks you're living with must have had a change of heart, Helen,"