Helen saw the nurse before she left the house, and left the dear old creature very happy indeed. Helen was sure Nurse Boyle would never be so lonely again, for her friends had remembered her.
Even Mrs. Olstrom, the housekeeper, came to shake hands with the girl who had been tucked away into an attic bedroom as “a pauper cousin.” And old Mr. Lawdor fairly shed tears when he learned that he was not likely to see Helen again.
There were other people in the great city who were sorry to see Helen Morrell start West. Through Dud Stone, Allen Chesterton had been found light work and a pleasant boarding place. There would always be a watchful eye upon the old man—and that eye belonged to Miss Sadie Goronsky—rather, “S. Goron, Milliner,” as the new sign over the hat shop door read.
“For you see,” said Miss Sadie, with a toss of her head, “there ain’t no use in advertisin’ it that you are a Yid. That don’t do no good, as I tell mommer. Sure, I’m proud I’m a Jew. We’re the greatest people in the world yet. But it ain’t good for business.
“Now, ‘Goron’ sounds Frenchy; don’t it, Helen? And when I get a-going down here good, I’ll be wantin’ some time to look at a place on Fift’ Av’ner, maybe. ‘Madame Goron’ would be dead swell—yes? But you put the ‘sky’ to it and it’s like tying a can to a dog’s tail. There ain’t nowhere to go then but home,” declared this worldly wise young girl.
Helen had dinner again with the Goronskys, and Sadie’s mother could not do enough to show her fondness for her daughter’s benefactor. Sadie promised to write to Helen frequently and the two girls—so much alike in some ways, yet as far apart as the poles in others—bade each other an affectionate farewell.
The next day Helen Morrell and her two friends, Dud and Jess Stone, were headed West. That second trip across the continent was a very different journey for Helen than the first had been.
She and Jess Stone had become the best of friends. And as the months slid by the two girls—Helen, a product of the West, and Jessie, a product of the great Eastern city—became dearer and dearer companions.
As for Dud—of course he was always hanging around. His sister sometimes wondered—and that audibly—how he found time for business, he was so frequently at Sunset Ranch. This was only said, however, in wicked enjoyment of his discomfiture—and of Helen’s blushes.
For by that time it was an understood thing about Sunset Ranch that in time Dud was going to have the right to call its mistress “Snuggy” for all the years of her life—just as her father had. And Helen, contemplating this possibility, did not seem to mind.