"How have you been earning a living?"
"Most any way that come handy. Sometimes I sell papers, an' then agin I black boots. I did think one spell of goin' into the theayter biz, but I couldn't git the right kind of a job. I can dance a good many of them perfessionals way out of sight, but the managers won't hire a performer what ain't got good clothes."
Jet spoke in a business-like tone which evidently pleased the manager, for the latter said, after a short pause:
"I will give you a trial, and——"
"You couldn't do better," Jet interrupted gravely, "for if I can't hump myself ahead of that fat chump over there I don't want a cent," and he pointed to a very fleshy boy who was half asleep on a bench which extended across the rear of the room.
"Here is a cap," the manager continued. "Your number is forty-eight. We'll find a coat which will answer until another is made, and you are to go to work at once. Can you read?"
"Why cert."
"Then study this book of distances so you may know how much to charge for service, and set on that bench until it is your turn to go out."
Jet took the articles and was about to turn away from the desk when a very important question came into his mind.
"How much money are you goin' to give me a week?"