Losing a position was a trifle. But it set her
thinking again.
"It doesn't seem to be a case of flight," she reflected on her way
home, "so much as a case of being frozen out, compelled to go. I can't
stay here and be idle. I have to work in order to live. Well, I'm not
gone yet."
She stopped at a news stand and bought the evening papers. Up in the
top rack of the stand the big heads of an assorted lot of Western
papers caught her eye. She bought two or three on the impulse of the
moment, without any definite purpose except to look them over out of
mere curiosity. With these tucked under her arm, she turned into the
boarding-house gate, ran up the steps, and, upon opening the door, her
ears were gladdened by the first friendly voice she had heard--it
seemed to her--in ages, a voice withal that she had least expected to
hear. A short, plump woman rushed out of the parlor, and precipitated
herself bodily upon Hazel.
"Kitty Ryan! Where in the wide, wide world did you come from?" Hazel
cried.
"From the United States and everywhere," Miss Ryan replied. "Take me
up to your room, dear, where we can talk our heads off.
"And, furthermore, Hazie, I'll be pleased to have you address me as
Mrs.
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