The Humorist
"Me, Georgia? But what can I do?"
Georgia's ingenuous face took on that pink shade which becomes it so well.
"I've known a good many girls," said he, "but never one with such fetching ways as you have. And I've never known a woman with a kinder heart. I thought if you came here and saw her for yourself, you might do something for this girl. She's too good for this dreadful life; she ought to give it up. I thought perhaps you might be able to persuade her to earn her living in a different way to teach, or typewrite, or something dull and respectable. It seemed to me—" He hesitated. "I thought, don't you know, that she was the kind of girl who might come an awful smash if she kept it up, and I guessed that you'd be glad to help her before it was too late. Women can talk to each other, don't you know, and it was impossible for me to tell her what I really thought about her beastly profession. Some of these pierrots and minstrels are jolly de-
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