be with her own colored "help."

"You guessed quite rightly, Miss Mason," Mary smiled. "I want to spend as
little as possible, and shall depend on you to prevent my making
mistakes."

"I reckon I know all there is t' know 'bout economy," nodded Miss Mason,
and, as if by way of illustration, drew from her bag a pair of cotton
gloves, for which she exchanged her kid ones, rolling these carefully
away. "They get real mussed shopping," she explained.

Within half an hour, Mary realized that she would have been lost indeed
without her guide. First they inspected the studio. Mary had had a vague
idea of cleaning it herself, but Miss Mason demanded to see the
janitress, and ascended, after a ten minutes' emersion in the noisome
gloom of the basement, in high satisfaction. "She's a dago," she
reported, "but not so dirty as some, and looks a husky worker. It's her
business to clean the flats for new tenants, but I promised her fifty
cents to get the place done by noon, windows and all. She seemed real
pleased. She says her husband will carry your coal up from the cellar for
a quarter a week; I guess it will be worth it to you. You don't want to
give the money to him though," she admonished, "the woman runs
everything. I shouldn't calc'late," she sniffed, "he does more'n a couple
of real days' work a month. They mostly don't."

So the first problem was solved, and it was the same with all the rest.
Many dollars did Miss Mason save the Byrds that day. Mary would have
bought a bedstead and screened it, but her companion pointed out the
extravagance and inconvenience of such a course, and initiated her
forthwith into the main secret of New York's apartment life.