WHO WILL HELP?
The Van Ruypen butler came down the rose-tinted room, known as madam's boudoir, with his usual soft, catlike tread, and stood by her very chair for a moment without being seen. She appeared lost in thought, her head bent on her hand, and her right foot tapping impatiently on the carpet.
"If you please, madam," said the serving-man, with a little apologetic cough to announce his presence, "I—"
"Well," interrupted his mistress, sharply, and lifting her head with an impatient gesture, "what is it, Hooper?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she got out of her chair, and went quickly across the apartment to her writing-desk. "I want you to take a note to Mr. King's, to little Miss Pepper," and she began to write hastily, and as if no very good humor inspired her thought.
"If you please, madam," said Hooper, obsequiously, "little Master Pepper is downstairs now."
"Hey? What is that you are saying?" demanded the old lady, throwing down her pen to turn away from the writing-table.
"He's downstairs," repeated Hooper, "the little Pepper lad."
"Which one?" cried madam, quickly.
"The one, madam," said the butler; "I don't know his name."
"Then it must be Joel," said the old lady, and a smile of great satisfaction began to run over her strongly marked face. "Show him up at once, Hooper; at once," she added, with an imperious wave of her hand that set all the heirlooms of rings to shining at a great rate.