Old Jimmie was sleeping off the effects of a "loan" in a back room, so they had Kate and the little parlour to themselves. Kate was in the depth of the blues. David asked her what was the matter.
"Soap!" she cried fiercely. "My life's nothing but soap. It's 'That kind's nine cents for a box of three cakes, ma'am. Three boxes? Twenty-seven cents, please.' Or it's 'this variety is thirteen cents a box—regular value twenty-five.' That's all. It's just that, and only that, nine hours a day, six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year—soap!—soap!—soap! Oh, I'm going soap-mad! I can't stand it! I won't stand it!"
She gazed rebelliously at the two men.
"You must try something new," said David.
"And please, sir, what'll that be?" she demanded, sarcastically.
"Something that will use your energy and intelligence. How would you like to be a stenographer? A few months in a business school would fit you for a position. You would develop and advance rapidly, and soon have a responsible place."
"I'd like that," she said, decidedly. "I've thought of it—I know I could do the work. But how about the months while I study? I did have a little money on hand, but I couldn't live and keep my father on that soap-counter's five dollars, so I've had to use some of it every week. It's all gone. I must live—and I'm broke. No, I've got to stick to the soap!"
"Can't you and your father take two cheap rooms, sell most of your furniture, and live on the proceeds while you study?" David persisted.
"Everything here was bought on instalment. It's about half paid for. If sold, it'd bring about enough to pay off the balance. I might as well just give it back to the dealer."
Rogers, who thus far had been silent, now said quietly: "You leave the settling with the instalment dealer to me. I'll guarantee to get enough out of him to keep you going till you're through school."