"Crossley?"
"Yes. He was very nice—heard me sing three pieces—and it was all settled. I'm to begin to-morrow."
The color rose in Agnes Belloc's face until she looked apoplectic. She abruptly retreated to her bedroom. After a few minutes she came back, her normal complexion restored. "I couldn't trust myself to speak," said she. "That was the worst case of ingratitude I ever met up with. You, getting a place at fifty dollars a week—and on your first trial—and you come in looking as if you'd lost your money and your reputation. What kind of a girl are you, anyway?"
"I don't know," said Mildred. "I wish I did."
"Well, I'm sorry you got it so easy. Now you'll have a false notion from the start. It's always better to have a hard time getting things. Then you appreciate them, and have learned how to hold on."
"No trouble about holding on to this," said Mildred carelessly.
"Please don't talk that way, child," pleaded Agnes, almost tearful. "It's frightful to me, who've had experience, to hear you invite a fall-down."
Mildred disdainfully fluttered the typewritten copy of the musical comedy. "This is child's play," said she. "The lines are beneath contempt. As for the songs, you never heard such slop."
"The stars in those pieces get four and five hundred, and more, a week," said Mrs. Belloc. "Believe me, those managers don't pay out any such sums for child's play. You look out. You're going at this wrong."
"I shan't care if I do fail," said Mildred.