"I have no costume.As I told you, I've not been singing lately.""We've got one that might fit--a short blue silk skirt--low neck and blue stockings.Slippers too, but they might be tight--I forget the number.""I did wear threes.But I've done a great deal of walking.Iwear a five now." Susan thrust out a foot and ankle, for she knew that despite the overshoe they were good to look at.
The proprietor nodded approvingly and there was the note of personal interest in his voice as he said: "They can try your voice tomorrow morning.Come at ten o'clock.""If you decide to try me, what pay will I get?"The proprietor smiled slyly."Oh, we don't pay anything to the singers.That man who sang--he gets his board here.He works in a factory as a bookkeeper in the daytime.Lots of theatrical and musical people come here.If a man or a girl can do any stunt worth while, there's a chance.""I'd have to have something more than board," said Susan.
The proprietor frowned down at his stubby fingers whose black and cracked nails were drumming on the table."Well--I might give you a bed.There's a place I could put one in my daughter's room.She sings and dances over at Louis Blanc's garden in Third Avenue.Yes, I could put you there.But--no privileges, you understand.""Certainly....I'll decide tomorrow.Maybe you'll not want me.""Oh, yes--if you can sing at all.Your looks'd please my customers." Seeing the dubious expression in Susan's face, he went on, "When I say `no privilege' I mean only about the room.
Of course, it's none of my business what you do outside.Lots of well fixed gents comes here.My girls have all had good luck.I've been open two years, and in that time one of my singers got an elegant delicatessen owner to keep her.""Really," said Susan, in the tone that was plainly expected of her.
"Yes--an _elegant_ gentleman.I'd not be surprised if he married her.And another married an electrician that cops out forty a week.You'll find it a splendid chance to make nice friends--good spenders.And I'm a practical man.""I suppose there isn't any work I could do in the daytime?""Not here."
"Perhaps----"
"Not nowhere, so far as I know.That is, work you'd care to do.The factories and stores is hard on a woman, and she don't get much.And besides they ain't very classy to my notion.Of course, if a woman ain't got looks or sense or any tone to her, if she's satisfied to live in a bum tenement and marry some dub that can't make nothing, why, that's different.But you look like a woman that had been used to something and wanted to get somewhere.I wouldn't have let _my_ daughter go into no such low, foolish life."She had intended to ask about a place to stop for the night.
She now decided that the suggestion that she was homeless might possibly impair her chances.After some further conversation--the proprietor repeating what he had already said, and repeating it in about the same language--she paid the waiter fifteen cents for the drink and a tip of five cents out of the change she had in her purse, and departed.It had clouded over, and a misty, dismal rain was trickling through the saturated air to add to the messiness of the churn of cold slush.Susan went on down Second Avenue.On a corner near its lower end she saw a Raines Law hotel with awnings, indicating that it was not merely a blind to give a saloon a hotel license but was actually open for business.She went into the "family" entrance of the saloon, was alone in a small clean sitting-room with a sliding window between it and the bar.Atough but not unpleasant young face appeared at the window.It was the bartender.
"Evening, cutie," said he."What'll you have?""Some rye whiskey," replied Susan."May I smoke a cigarette here?""Sure, go as far as you like.Ten-cent whiskey--or fifteen?""Fifteen--unless it's out of the same bottle as the ten.""Call it ten--seeing as you are a lady.I've got a soft heart for you ladies.I've got a wife in the business, myself."When he came in at the door with the drink, a young man followed him--a good-looking, darkish youth, well dressed in a ready made suit of the best sort.At second glance Susan saw that he was at least partly of Jewish blood, enough to elevate his face above the rather dull type which predominates among clerks and merchants of the Christian races.He had small, shifty eyes, an attractive smile, a manner of assurance bordering on insolence.He dropped into a chair at Susan's table with a, "You don't mind having a drink on me."As Susan had no money to spare, she acquiesced.She said to the bartender, "I want to get a room here--a plain room.How much?""Maybe this gent'll help you out," said the bartender with a grin and a wink."He's got money to burn--and burns it."The bartender withdrew.The young man struck a match and held it for her to light the cigarette she took from her purse.
Then he lit one himself."Next time try one of mine," said he.
"I get 'em of a fellow that makes for the swellest uptown houses.But I get 'em ten cents a package instead of forty.
I haven't seen you down here before.What a good skin you've got! It's been a long time since I've seen a skin as fine as that, except on a baby now and then.And that shape of yours is all right, too.I suppose it's the real goods?"With that he leaned across the table and put his hand upon her bosom.She drew back indifferently.
"You don't give anything for nothing--eh?" laughed he."Been in the business long?""It seems long."
"It ain't what it used to be.The competition's getting to be something fierce.Looks as if all the respectable girls and most of the married women were coming out to look for a little extra money.Well--why not?"Susan shrugged her shoulders."Why not?" echoed she carelessly.
She did not look forward with pleasure to being alone.The man was clean and well dressed, and had an unusual amount of personal charm that softened his impertinence of manner.
Evidently he has the habit of success with women.She much preferred him sitting with her to her own depressing society.
