"What are you doing now, Stevens?"
"He's a shofer, ma'am," spoke up Foster quickly with pride.
"A what?" inquired Mrs. Challoner.
"A showfure, ma'am," corrected Stevens with dignity. "She'll learn in time.... I'm working for Bernhardt, the brewer—a hundred dollars a month, ma'am."
"Indeed! So you're a chauffeur, and earning one hundred dollars a month!" exclaimed Miriam Challoner. "Why that's fine!" And a hundred dollars never seemed larger to any one's eyes.
Stevens shrugged his shoulders as he answered in an offhand manner:—
"What's a hundred——"
"A hundred dollars a month!" again sighed Mrs. Challoner; and fell to planning what that sum would do for her.
Suddenly, Stevens broke in upon her thoughts, with:—
"What a cosy little place you have, ma'am!" And turning to Foster: "I hope we can have just such a little place as this some day. It's great!"