The brisk person laughed.
"Well you must have an address, where do you live?"
"In my own house," her chin lifted proudly, "Montrose Place."
"But if you have a house," the interrogator's voice was kindly if her words were severe, "we can't possibly give you work. You see, our work is for persons who have no other means of support, no other ways of making their living."
Felicia's lips quivered.
"I haven't, that's why I came. You see it's all taxes and assessments and fines and—it's so fearfully dirty and I haven't any money"—she held out Louisa's reticule a bit ruefully. "You can see I haven't."
"I see"—the brisk person stepped back to the telephone. She was thoughtful as she waited for her connection. She talked quietly, murmuring things about some one who looked thoroughly responsible. Presently she wrote down an address that she handed to Felicia. "You must be there at eight o'clock in the morning, can you do that, Miss By-the-Day?"
"There's something else I'd like you to write—it's the place where
Miss Pease lives—"
"You can't go to see her except Sundays," Miss Sarah cautioned her.
"They're strict."
After Felicia had gone the brisk woman straightened things about a bit, humming under her breath.