Not only Miss Foldal, but the Sailor also was quick to see the hand of Providence, when that young man, coloring pink in the gaslight and eating his last muffin, made the admission, "that his readin' an' writin' was rusty because of havin' followed the sea." And she answered, "Reelly," in her own inimitable way, to which the Sailor rejoined, "Yes, miss, reelly, and do you fink you could recommend a night school?"
"Night school, Mr. Harper?" And this was where the higher kind of lady was able to claim superiority over Mrs. Sparks. "Please don't think me impertinent, but I would be delighted to help you all I could. You see, I was trained for a pupil teacher before I went on the stage against my father's wishes."
The heart of the Sailor leaped. In that tone of sincere kindness was the wish to be of use. If Miss Foldal had been trained as a pupil teacher, the night school in Driver's Lane might not be necessary, after all.
"What do you want to learn?" said Miss Foldal, with a display of grave interest. "I am afraid my French is rather rusty and I never had much Latin and Italian to speak of."
The Sailor was thrilled.
"Don't want no French, miss," he said, "or anythink swankin'. I just want to read the Evenin' Star an' be able to write a letter."
"Do you mean to say——" Like the lady she was, she checked herself very adroitly. "I am quite sure, Mr. Harper, that is easily arranged. How much can you read at present?"
"Nothink, miss." The plain and awful truth slipped out before he knew it had.
Miss Foldal did not flicker an eyelash. She merely said, "I'll go and see if I can find Butter's spelling-book. I ought to have it somewhere."
She went at once in search of it, and five minutes later returned in triumph.