“She told me about it on the stairs,” said Nan slowly. “I haven’t even a trunk for her to take; so she’ll probably put me in jail.”
Madge shook her head quickly.
“No, she won’t. I’ll make Jack give me enough to pay up the rent. He’s a good scout, and he’s got plenty. Anyway, he can advance me that much and he’s gambler enough to take a chance.”
“Advance you that much?” queried Nan. “Are you going to work for Jack Pollock, Madge?”
“Not the way you think. I’d be a poor stick in his gambling house. No, it’s just a private deal, kid. Well, I’ve got to meet Jack right away, and as long as Mrs. Julius Cæsar has the trunk, I won’t mind if she does meet me now. But it might not be so good for her. Now, don’t worry, kid. This is just one evening, and to-morrow is another day. Forget the job and enjoy the hamburger. Lock the door behind me, because if that old battle-axe ever gets a whiff of that aroma, she’ll send for the fire department.”
Nan laughed and locked the door behind her. She was fond of the breezy Madge, and Madge was fond of her. They had met several months before, when both of them were looking for a rooming house.
Nan was an orphan, raised by an aunt in Portland, Oregon, who died leaving nothing but debts, but luckily she had lived long enough to give Nan a good home and to educate her. Nan had tried clerking, but the wages were too small, and her last venture had been as a stenographer in a broker’s office. Now this position had vanished, and all the money she owned was in her pocket-book, and that hardly sufficient to square up her room rent.
As she ate her home-cooked meal she wondered what Madge had meant about falling into money. In discussing their affairs, Madge had said that she didn’t have a relative who wasn’t poorer than the proverbial church mouse.
Nan did not care for the sleek Jack Pollock, a gambler, although he had always seemed decent enough.
She washed her dishes and put everything away neatly. There was still an aroma of cooked foods when the landlady knocked softly on the door.