Claire sat down to the piano. It was new and had a good tone. She ran over a simple negro melody. The proprietor smiled and bowed again. "Thank you! Thank you!" he kept repeating. Then he and the waiter began to talk again. Claire waited.... She had to admit that the prospects were not so terrible. And she rather liked Mr. Lycurgus with his sweeping and naïve bows and his thick clustering black hair.
Finally the waiter turned to her and said:
"Do you sing?"
"Yes ... a little." And she made good her words with a sentimental trifle that her mother had taught her years ago.
The waiter and the proprietor talked again.
"He thinks you will do, and he will pay you twenty dollars a week," the waiter finally announced.
Claire rose from the piano stool.
"Thank you ... thank you!" said the proprietor.
"Thank you," replied Claire, at a loss for anything better to say.
"Can you begin to-night?"