Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-12-03

Nav Rikkar mounted the stairs slowly
until she reached her room on the hfth
floor where she placed her basket upon
table and sat down for few moments 10
regain breath Hours for shop girls were
long, and she had walked the mile TO her
room to save car fare. An indulgence Oh
one meal a day at a restaurant, with ihe
other two dependent upon paper bags In her
room, made q nickel loom up to the splen-
did proportions of an extra cup OF coHee
or hot rolls. Four dollars week, with
half for room rent. and clothing TO be
economical from the rest, did not leave
much latitude for appetite.
Presently she rose, lighted her alcohol
lamp and placed over 1t a tiny pot OF
water, then she began to take the pack
ages from the basket, small ones holding
tea sugar and raisins which had cost D
cents each, and larger ones of rice and
beans The raisins were her reckless lux
ury the rice and beans she had found by
experience to yield much for the money.
In the bottom of the basket lay bit OF
green pasteboard, which she supposed was
q list of her purchases, such as the grocer
sometimes included. But as she pushed
the basket under the sink, something IN
the appearance of the green slip made her
pick it up for closer examination.
1t proved to be ticket for an excursion
up the river on the following Sunday, and
her first thought was that in the 1osting
crowd upon the sidewalk 1t had been
knocked from some persons hand into her
basket.
Then she saw her name in faint, sprawl
ing characters across the face of the ticket,
as though some one had written and then
tried to erase ii. finally desisting through
fear of erasing the printed letters also. and
Che incipient wonder in her eyes was fol-
lowed by a sudden flush which made her
almost colorless face look really pretty.
The ticket was intended for her, for May
Rikkar, who had not supposed. she had
friendly acquaintance in the whole big
city.
Tie bubbling of the water brought her
back to realities and the alcohol lamp,
but the refrain of long neglected song
fell also from her lips as she made the tea
and put on rice to boil in preparation for
the next days breakfast. Then with the
tea and raisins and what bread had been
left from breakfast, she sat down by the
one window to nibble and sip and gloat
over the green ticket perched up before
her
Who would have given 1t to her, she Won
dered the pleasure still glowing in her
cheeks and dancing in her eyes. Not the old
candy woman on the corner who sometimes
greeted her with motherly smile, for her
clothing and stock-in-trade were too elo-
quent of poverty; nor the poStman who
sometimes delivered letters at the next door,
nor the two men she occasionally passed on
the stairs or in the hall, for they were pre-
occupied, middle-aged persons who merely
noticed her by nod or muttered word OF
greeting. Yet these were all-or no, there
was the janitor. OF course II was the jani-
tor. He nearly always gave her a friendly
word when she passed in or out.
So the next morning she greeted him with
unusual warmth, and with words of thanks
trembling on her lips, when something in
the surly, unresponsive face chilled her.
Things had gone wrong with the janitor
the night before, and he was making it felt
this morning. He scarcely looked in her d.
TeCtiOn he Rrunted Acknowledgement
of the greeting.
At the old woman's candy stand Mays
ardor was again dampened. The smile was
as motherly as usual but there was no new
warmth or consciousness in IT. The old
woman knew nothing of the ticket.
But such depression was only temporary.
Somebody in the big city had thought of
her, was interested In her, perhaps would
make some manifestation of the interest
again, and all through the day the thought
of 1t gave new brightness to her eyes,
an added buoyancy to her steps.
On Sunday she went up the river. her
eyes watchful and half-expectant, but no