her intervention the Bussard would have been incontinently consigned to the mercies of the police.     

       Her face softened suddenly now as she walked along. She remembered well that scene, when, at the end, she had written down the address the man had given her.     

       “Father is going to let you go, McGee, because I ask him to,” she had said. “And to-morrow morning I will go to this address, and if I find your story is true, as I believe it is, I will see what I can do for you.”      

       “It's true, miss, so help me God!” the man had answered brokenly. “Youse come an' see. I'll be dere-an'-an'-God bless youse, miss!”      

       And so they had let the man go free, and her father, with a whimsical, tolerant smile, had shaken his head at her. “You'll never find that address, Rhoda-or our friend the Bussard, either!”      

       But she had found both the Bussard and the address, and destitution and a squalor unspeakable. Pathetic still, but the vernacular of the underworld where men called their women by no more gracious names than “molls” and       “skirts” no longer strange to her ears, there came to her again now the Bussard's words in which he had paid her tribute on that morning long ago, and with which he had introduced her to a shrunken form that lay upon a dirty cot in the barefloored room:     

       “Meet de moll I was tellin' youse about, Mag. She's white—all de way up. She's white, Mag; she's a white moll—take it from me.”      

       The White Moll!     

       The firm little chin came suddenly upward; but into the dark eyes unbidden came a sudden film and mist. Her father's health had been too far undermined, and he had been unable to withstand the shock of the operation, and he had died in the hospital. There weren't any relatives, except distant ones on her mother's side, somewhere out in California, whom she had never seen. She and her father had been all in all to each other, chums, pals, comrades, since her mother's death many years ago. She had gone everywhere with him save when the demands of her education had necessarily kept them apart; she had hunted with him in South America, ridden with him in sections where civilization was still in the making, shared the crude, rough life of mining 

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