“You musn’t feel embarrassed about it,” he hurried on. “I’d be very much indebted to you if you thought you could.”
Tears were so perilously near Jinnie’s lids that some of them rolled into her throat. To regain her self-possession enough to speak, she swallowed several times in rapid succession. Such a compliment she’d never been paid before. She brought her hands together appealingly, and Mr. King noticed that his request had heightened her color.
“I’d love to do it,” she breathed.
“Of course I’ll pay you for it,” he said, not able to think of anything else,
“I couldn’t take any money for fiddling,” replied Jinnie. “But I’ll come. Lafe says money can’t be made that way.”
She turned to go, but Mr. King detained her.
“Wait a minute,” he insisted. “I want to tell you something! You’ve a great gift—a wonderful genius—and out 131 of such genius much money is made.... I couldn’t think of letting you come here unless you allowed me to remunerate you.”
Jinnie listened attentively to all he said, but refusal was still in her steady gaze. Mr. King, seeing this, continued quickly:
“I want you very much, but on that one point I must have my way. I shall give you twenty-five dollars for playing three pieces.”
Then Jinnie thought she was going to faint. Twenty-five dollars! It was a fortune—a huge fortune! But she couldn’t take money for playing tunes that came from her heart—tunes that were a part of herself the same as her hands or feet. But before she could offer another argument, the man finished hurriedly: