"Oh, don't look so serious. A minute's nothing."
"No, ma'am—not much."
Silence claimed them for a time.
"Well, what'll we do?" she finally asked a little petulantly, and turned her back on him to look into the window.
"I dunno," he began; then a sudden wild idea struck him. He had seen along the curbs automobiles bearing signs which read "For Hire—Four Dollars an Hour." It was worth it, if only to break this humiliating situation. "We might take a little spin in a machine," he finished with a tottery tone of indifference.
"Oh, I'd like that," she said instantly. "But I gotta dress. We'll get a car and ride 'round to where I room."
They walked to the corner, where was a taxi stand. Hiram engaged a car by the hour, and they entered. She directed the driver to her rooming house, and they were off.
The car presently drew up to the curb, and the driver swung the door open for his passengers. Into a dark, musty little parlor the girl led Hiram of the butterfly life.
"Sit down," she invited; "and excuse me a minute."
She went back into the hall, and Hiram heard the tattoo of her feet on the stairs.