“Well, I’ve taken something for nothing; and that’s what I want to wipe out of my life.”
“Gee! I bet Pop Streeter can do the trick for you. Good old Pop.”
Max asked about Mr. Streeter, and Sydney explained. “He’s to the good on every count; and I have a hunch he can do something for you. Ever play in public?”
“No; only for my—for friends.”
“Well, there’s a new moving-picture-show house going up near the Fifth Avenue High. I know the man that’s building it; he owns another show down the street, the best shows in town he has,—even the teachers approve them, so you can see they’re O. K. Well, the way you pet those fiddle strings I bet you can play for him.”
“Thank you for so much confidence in my ability.” There was a faint hint of patronage in his tone.
“No confidence in you,” Sydney returned a little sharply. “My judgment’s worth nothing; but Mrs. Schmitz knows good music, and when she praises a musical guy he has to have the stuff in him; I’ve lived here long enough to learn that.”
“How soon will the house be finished?”
“The opening is advertised for a week from next Friday. Mr. Fox wants a special program of music. You come with me to see Mr. Streeter to-morrow—I’ll make the appointment right now.” He hurried to the telephone without waiting to learn Max’s wishes in the matter, but Mr. Streeter was not in.
Max showed relief. He had not Sydney’s initiative, born from the life of the street, where advantage must be seized the instant it appears; though Max could think and act quick under great stress.