“My dear, I’ll tell you all that later—talk for an hour if you can stand it. But that’s not what I came to say to-day. It’s business to-day—real business, and I don’t know but what all your future hangs on it.”
She gave a triumphant look at the startled mother and daughter. With the introduction of serious matter her worn face took on a certain sharp intelligence and her language grew more masculine and less slovenly.
“It’s this,” she said, leaning forward impressively: “I’m not sure that I haven’t found Mariposa’s backer.”
“Backer,” said Lucy, faintly, finding the word objectionable. “What’s that?”
“The person who’s to hear her sing and offer to educate the finest voice he’s likely to hear in the next ten years.”
Mariposa gave a suppressed exclamation and looked at her mother. Lucy had paled. She was trembling at what she felt she was to hear.
“It’s Jake Shackleton,” said Mrs. Willers, proudly launching her bombshell.
“Jake Shackleton,” breathed Mariposa, to whom the name meant only vaguely fabulous wealth. “The Bonanza Man?”
Lucy was sitting up, deadly pale, but she said nothing.
“The Bonanza Man,” said Mrs. Willers. “My chief.”