She eyed him furtively.
“Do you know the man in the flat below?” he demanded.
“Mr. Arima? No. He’s a Jap. I see him in the halls sometimes, but I don’t do no more than bow, like any neighbor.”
“He’s noisy, isn’t he?”
“Only when he has pupils. But he goes out to do most of his teaching. Is he wanted?”
“Not exactly. Now look here. I believe you’re a well-meaning woman. Do you make a good thing out of this business?”
“Fair.” She smiled faintly. “I ain’t been in Chicago long, and it takes time to work up a good trade. I got a daughter to bring up. She’s with friends. She don’t know anything about what I do for a living.”
“Well,” said Orme, “I’m going to give you five dollars toward educating your girl.”
He took a bill from his pocket-book and handed it to her. She accepted it with a deprecating glance and a smile that was tinged with pathetic coquetry. Then she looked at it strangely. “What’s the writing?” she asked.
Orme started. He had given her the marked five-dollar bill. “I didn’t mean to give you that one,” he said, taking it from her fingers.