She went away to sit by him and tell him stories. Helen was developing quite a reputation as a nurse. The boy was in pain and anything was welcome that kept his mind for a little off the troublesome leg.
The girls were very busy that evening with another matter. Permission had been asked and obtained to give the proposed “chamber concert” for Curly’s benefit. What the boy had done in saving two lives was well known now among the enforced guests at Holloway’s, and the idea of any entertainment was welcome.
There was a mimeograph on which the hotel menus were printed and Ruth got up a gorgeous program in two-colored ink of the “chamber concert,” inviting everybody to come.
“And they’ve just got to come, my dears,” said Nettie, who took upon herself the distribution of the concert programs and—as Helen called it—the “boning” for the money. “Ev’ry white person in this hotel has got to pay a dollar at least, fo’ the pleasure of hearing Helen play and Ruth sing. That’s their admission.”
“I’d like to see you get a dollar for that purpose out of Miss Miggs,” giggled Helen.
“Never mind, honey, somebody will have to pay fo’ her,” declared Nettie. “Then we’ll sell the choice seats and the boxes at auction.”
“Goodness, child!” cried Ruth. “What boxes do you mean; soap boxes?”
“The front stairs,” said Nettie, placidly. “The seats in the upstairs hall here will be reserved, and must bring a premium, too.”
“The ingenuity of the girl!” gasped Ruth.
“Why, Ruthie,” said Helen, “it isn’t anything to get up a concert, or to carry a program all alone. But it takes genius to devise such schemes as this. You will be a multi-millionairess before you die, Nettie.”