Ralston's heart smote him. He knew well the hideous uncertainty which being out of a job means to the chorus girl, and its more hideous possibilities.
"I'm sorry," he said humbly. "I had to do it, and I promise you shall lose nothing by it. Now, quick, where can we talk? Not here? The manager would see you."
The partridge wiped her eyes.
"Do you promise to square the management?"
"I certainly do—on my honor as a gentleman."
"Then come!" Hudson darted quickly back among the scenery, and Ralston followed her down a flight of iron steps which led beneath the stage. Pipes ran in all directions, and great heaps of old flies and useless properties reached toward the low ceiling, between which narrow alleys led off into the darkness. A smell of mold and of paint filled the air. Even the scant gas jets seemed to burn with a peculiar dimness in the damp atmosphere.
"Come along!" whistled the partridge.
Beyond a pile of lumber in a sort of catacomb she stopped. A bead of gas showed blue against some whitewashed brickwork.
"Turn it up," said Hudson, and Ralston did so.
"Hungry?" she continued. "I could eat anything that 'didn't bite me first!'"