“Oh, he can play anything and everything,” chimed in Bessie Dalton. “Nigger melodies, dance music, comic songs, serious and sentimental.”
“There, that will do, Bess,” cried Peace.
“Well, you know you can. What’s the use of being bashful when you’ve got—ahem, talent?”
“Be quiet, girl; leave people to judge for themselves.”
“Oh, I’ve done; sorry I spoke,” answered the girl, pouting.
“I will not detain you, Mr. Peace. Allow me to return you my most sincere thanks. I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again in a day or two.”
The speaker offered his hand to the burglar; there was the usual interchange of courtesies, and the stranger took his departure.
“You ought to make something out of this, Charlie,” said Bessie Dalton.
“How so?” returned Peace; “I am to give my services gratuitously.”
“True; but it will be the means of introducing you to a lot of swells and rich people, whom you can afterwards call upon and leave your card. You see I’ve an eye to business, old man.”