MISS ROSE FORWARD Times were none too prosperous with the Martha Washington Beauty Shop, upon the sixth floor of a Broadway building.

In the hairdressing parlor half the long rows of chairs reached out empty arms except during the rush hours of afternoon; even then impatient patrons merely sprinkled the room with little oases of activity while the girls busied themselves with tidying shelves already immaculate, and prinking before the mirrors whenever they dared.

An air of uncertainty pervaded the place, swept in by the rumor that the shop was going to cut down its force of operators.

No one knew, of course, the exact truth of the matter, but that made it all the worse.
"'For one shall be taken and the other left,'" a blonde girl quoted into a dismal little group at the window that looked out over the city.

"Has any one heard any more about it ?" "Rumley has been checking up the appointment lists, all morning," a short, fat girl with henna-auburn hair piled high on her head reported cheerfully.