“I have a letter here for Madge Allan,” she said, when Nan cautiously opened the door a few inches. “She said something about getting money from home, and this letter might just be the one she’ll be looking for.”
The last was rather sarcastic as she handed the letter to Nan, sniffing at the hamburger-tainted atmosphere.
“That’s queer,” she said. “I’d almost swear that ain’t no odour from my kitchen.”
“I really can’t smell anything,” said Nan.
“Then you’ve got a fine cold, young lady. Somebody in this house has been cooking hamburger and onions.”
“Don’t you think that is rather astonishing?”
“Astonishing! If I find out who it is I’ll astonish them. I run a boarding house, I’d have you know.”
“Yes, I know you do, Mrs. Emmett. Good evening.”
Nan closed the door and tossed the letter to the table, listening to Mrs. Emmett going down the creaking stairs. Nan was tired of Mrs. Emmett, tired of the eternal grind of trying to make enough money to keep body and soul together.
But to-morrow she must go in search of another position, and possibly in search of another place to live, unless Madge was fortunate enough to raise the price of their delinquent rent. Nan had little to move. One valise carried her worldly goods.