"I'm making a specialty of dancing," said Prue, coldly.
Idalene was torn between the bitterly opposite emotions of getting and giving. Prue tried to speak with indifference, but she looked as greedy as the old miser in the "Chimes of Normandy."
"Fifty cents suits me, seeing it's you."
Idalene gasped: "Well, o' course, two lessons a day would be a dollar. Could you make it six bits by wholesale?"
Prue didn't see how she could. Teaching would interfere so with her amusements. Finally Idalene sighed:
"Oh, well, all right! Call it fifty cents straight. When can I come over to your house?"
"To my house?" gasped Prue. "Papa doesn't approve of my dancing. I'll come to yours."
"Oh no, you won't," gasped Idalene. "My father doesn't dream that I dance. I'm going to let him sleep as long as I can."
Here was a plight! Mrs. Judge Hippisley strolled up and demanded, "What's all this whispering about?"
They explained their predicament. Mrs. Hippisley thought it was a perfectly wonderful idea to take lessons. She would let Prue teach Idalene in her parlor if Prue would teach her at the same time for nothing.