“Was—was Miss Allan there?” faltered Nan.
“She was not. I’m tired of promises, and I just heard that Miss Allan’s show closes to-morrow night.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Nan meekly.
“Oh, ye do? And I suppose I was to be left holding the sack, as they say, eh? Well, I’m not. I’ve had her trunk put in storage to-day, and she’ll not get it until the rent is all paid.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Emmett.”
“She’ll be sorry, too, I’m thinking. Oh, I don’t mean to be cross about it, but business is business. If I have to, I’ll attach your wages, my dear. With a fly-by-night like Madge Allan, all I can do is take her trunk. You tell her, will ye? And, of course, that means both of ye get out, unless the money is paid. Her with her fine clothes and fur coats, and a taxi at the door almost every night! And she can’t pay twenty dollars rent! Well, you two think it over, my dear. Unless I miss my guess, I’ll have a vacancy after breakfast.”
She stepped aside and walked grandly down the stairs, while Nan hurried on to her room, where she lighted the gas jets, threw off her wet coat and sat down rather heavily. Nan was not pretty, but she had an oval face, wistful gray eyes, and a wealth of wavy auburn hair. Twenty-two her last birthday, and out of a job again.
“Attach my wages,” she said, half aloud. “Fine chance. With it all in my pocket.”
The steam in the radiators clanked furiously for a moment. Nan got to her feet, took a pair of old slippers from under the bed and removed her wet shoes.
Then from a locked drawer in the dresser she took a gas plate, with a long hose, which she attached to one of the gas jets. From the parcel she had carried she produced hamburger steak. From another locked drawer she took a frying-pan, a small coffee-pot, and a box which contained bread, butter, eggs and coffee.