Laura shrugged her shoulders impatiently:
"Quiller sent for me, and I hurried here thinking it was serious. Then he had the nerve to say he'd guarantee me an engagement, if I could put up five hundred dollars. I could not help laughing. 'Where would I get five hundred dollars?' I said. 'You know that better than I,' he replied. 'Surely you've plenty of admirers who'd be willing to put the money up for you.' What do you think of his impudence? I felt like slapping his face."
The advance man gave a dry chuckle.
"Up to the old game," he said. "Do you think these people live on the petty commissions we pay 'em? Not on your life! They gets just such gals as you to find an angel willing to put up the 'dough'. That's why there are so many near-actresses on the stage. It isn't talent they want nowadays, it's money." Changing the subject, he went on: "By the way, I met an old chum of yours just now. She asked after you——"
"An old chum?" echoed Laura, puzzled.
"Yes—Elfie St. Clair."
The girl's pale face reddened slightly. Involuntarily her manner stiffened. Indifferently she said:
"I haven't seen her for months. What did she say?"
"She seemed to know things weren't quite right with you. She's a bad lot, that girl, but she has a good heart. She asked where you lived."
"You didn't tell her, I hope," exclaimed Laura hurriedly.