position with more inward joy than Reba acquired her modest desk in the Alliance's office.
The whole course of events that led up to that desk was a series of intoxications to Reba Jerome. From the early spring day when Miss Park first asked her to help her with the beginners at the noon dancing classes ("You know the steps so well yourself now," she had explained) all along through the following requests, from this secretary and that, to help in little ways here and there,—it didn't matter how simple and trivial the assistance rendered was, Reba was as childishly pleased as a debutante who finds herself in constant demand. First it was Miss Park asking her to help with the dancing; and then Miss Bartholomew wondering if she would mind calling the roll at gymnasium drill; some other secretary requesting her to attend to the telephone during a congested morning hour in the office; and still another placing her inside the cashier's cage in the cafeteria one noon—that is, if she had nothing else very important to do just then. Reba performed these little services tremblingly at first, but with growing assurance as they mysteriously increased week by week.
The day that Miss Park asked Reba if she would not like to become one of the Alliance's real helpers, "with a big H, I mean, and a little salary," she tucked in, Reba's cup of joy flowed over.
"Me? Oh, do you think I could be of any help—any use—really?" Reba had gasped, blushing over the presumption of her question.
"Why, you are already," had smiled back Miss Park. "You'd just be filling officially a position you've created for yourself around here, my dear, these last
