Rose had scarcely gone a block when she encountered Dick Swann. He stopped her—turned to walk with her. It was a melancholy gift of Rose's that she could tell when men were even in the slightest under the influence of drink. Swann was not careless now or indifferent. He seemed excited and gay.
"Rose, you're just the girl I'm looking for," he said. "I really was going to your home. Got that job yet?"
"No," she replied.
"I've got one for you. It's at the Telephone Exchange. They need an operator. My dad owns the telephone company. I've got a pull. I'll get you the place. You can learn it easy. Nice job—short hours—you sit down all the time—good pay. What do you say, Rose?"
"I—I don't know—what to say," she faltered. "Thanks for thinking of me."
"I've had you in mind for a month. Rose, you take this job. Take it whether you've any use for me or not. I'm not rotten enough to put this in your way just to make you under obligations to me."
"I'll think about it. I—I do need a place. My father's out of work. And he's—he's not easy to get along with."
"I tell you what, Rose. You meet me to-night. We'll take a spin in my car. It'll be fine down the river road. Then we can talk it over. Will you?"
Rose looked at him, and thought how strange it was that she did not like him any better, now when she ought to.
"Why have you tried to—to rush me?" she asked.