When she entered her humble home, she found Dodger already there. There was an eagerness in his manner, and a light in his eye, that seemed to indicate good news.
“Well, Dodger, what is it?”
“I’ve been waitin’ half an hour to see you, Florence,” he said. “I’ve got some work for you.”
“What is it—sewing on a button, or mending a coat?”
“No, I mean workin’ for money. You can play on the pianner, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“They want a young lady to play the pianner at a dime museum, for nine dollars a week. It’s a bully chance. I just told the manager—he’s a friend of mine—that I had a young lady friend that was a stunnin’ player, and he wants you to come around and see him.”
It was a preposterous idea—so Florence thought—that she should consent to play at such a place; but she couldn’t expect Dodger to look at the matter in the same light, so she answered, very gently and pleasantly:
“You are very kind, Dodger, to look out for me, but I shall not need to accept your friend’s offer. I have secured a chance to teach uptown.”
“You have? What’ll you get?”