“You play better than the last young man I had.”
Walter was glad to hear it.
“I may as well tell you the nature of your duties, in case I engage you. I call myself a traveling lecturer, but this may convey an erroneous idea. I am the discoverer of Professor Robinson's Liquid Balm, which is warranted to cure more diseases than any other patent preparation in existence. I won't go into particulars, for these can be read in my circular. Now, it is my custom to go from one town to another, engage a hall if the weather requires, otherwise gather a crowd around me in a public place, and lecture about the merits of my remarkable preparation. You, besides assisting me in a general way, are expected to draw and entertain the crowd by your performance on the violin. Can you sing?”
Walter shook his head.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that if I should undertake to sing it would drive away the crowd.”
“Very well! It isn't necessary, though it would have helped. Now, what are your ideas as to compensation?”
As the professor spoke, he leaned back in his chair and awaited a reply.
“I hardly know what it would be right to ask,” returned Walter hesitatingly. “How much did you pay your last assistant?”
“I paid him fifteen dollars a month and his traveling expenses.”
This was a good deal more than Walter had made since he had undertaken to earn his own living, yet there seemed small chance of laying up anything out of it.