Nance took advantage of her stepmother's sudden departure to cheer up
Mr. Snawdor.
"We're gittin' things cleaned up," she said, "I can't work no more to-day
though, 'cause I got to report to the lady."
"Ain't you goin' to slick yerself up a bit?" asked Uncle Jed, making a
futile effort to smooth her hair.
"I have," said Nance, indignantly, "Can't you see I got on a clean
apron?"
Uncle Jed's glance was not satisfied as it traveled from the dirty dress
below the apron to the torn stockings and shabby shoes.
"Why don't you wear the gold locket?" suggested Mrs. Snawdor, who now
returned with Rosy in one hand and the button in the other.
The gold locket was the one piece of jewelry in the family and when it
was suspended on a black ribbon around Nance's neck, it filled her with a
sense of elegance. So pleased was she with its effect that as she went
out that afternoon, she peeped in on the new tenant in the hope that he
would notice it. She found him leaning over a violin case, and her
interest was fired at once.
"Can you play on the fiddle?" she demanded.
The small, elderly man in the neat, black suit lifted his head and smiled
at her over his glasses.
"Yes, my little friend," he said in a low, refined voice, "I will play
for you to dance sometime. You would like that? Yes?"
Nance regarded him gravely.
"Say, are you a Polock or a Dago?" she asked.
He gave an amused shrug.
"I am neither. My name is Mr. Demorest. And you are my little
neighbor, perhaps?"
"Third floor on the right," said Nance, adding in a business-like tone,
"I'll be down to dance to-night.
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