Here was the contract. No father? Well, Nancy could sign it in the father's stead.
Nancy, Bemolle, and Fräulein read the contract over very carefully, while the impresario drank claret and smoked cigarettes. He had a way of sniffing the air up through his nostrils, and of swallowing with his lips turned up at the corners in an expectant, self-satisfied manner that distracted Nancy, and interfered with her understanding of the contract.
There were fourteen clauses. "It seems all right," said Nancy softly to Bemolle. Bemolle frowned a businesslike frown, and Fräulein said, "Sprechen wir Deutsch," which they did, to the placid amusement of the Paris impresario, who was born in Klagenfurt.
After much reading and considering, Bemolle turned with his business frown to the impresario. "You say forty per cent to the artist?"
The impresario sniffed and swallowed. "That's right," he said. "I have the risks and the expenses."
"Of course," said Nancy.
Bemolle touched her arm lightly and warningly.
"Forty per cent of the gross receipts?" asked Bemolle suspiciously.
"Of the net receipts," said the impresario.
"Ah, that is better!" said the unenlightened Fräulein. And Bemolle put out his foot gently and kicked her.