“I overheard your offer to Carl, Wampole. My answer is the same as his.”
“You won’t join me?”
“No.”
Nathan Wampole’s face grew dark and bitter.
“You’ll regret it—mark my words, you’ll regret it!” he hissed; and gulping down the liquor set before him, he arose and hurried from the place.
“The fraud!” murmured Leo. “I’ll never perform for him again.”
“Nor will I,” added Carl.
A little later they were eating dinner, not an elaborate meal, for they had little to spend.
“I’ve struck luck,” went on the young gymnast.
“I met a gentleman who was at Mr. Raymond’s yesterday, and he has hired us to perform at his house this evening from eight o’clock to nine. He is going to pay us the same amount, twelve dollars.”