There ain't a girl in the chorus knows my real name, or where I
come from."
The allusion to home stirred Nance's conscience, and reminded her that
over there beyond the cathedral spire, dimly visible from the window, lay
a certain little alley which still had claims upon her.
"I ain't said a thing to 'em at home about this," she said. "Suppose they
don't let me do it?"
"Let nothing!" said Birdie. "Write a note to Mrs. Snawdor, and tell her
you are spending the night down-town with me. You'll know by morning
whether Reeser is going to take you on or not. If he does, you just want
to announce the fact that you are going, and go."
Nance looked at her with kindling eyes. This high-handed method appealed
to her. After all wasn't she past eighteen? Birdie hadn't been that old
when she struck out for herself.
"What about Miss Bobinet?" she asked ruefully.
"The wiggy old party up in Cemetery Street? Let her go hang. You've
swallowed her frizzes long enough."
Nance laughed and gave the older girl's arm a rapturous squeeze. "And you
think maybe Mr. Reeser'll take me on?" she asked for the sixteenth time.
"Well, Flossie Pierson has been shipped home, and they've got to put
somebody in her place. It's no cinch to pick up a girl on the road,
just the right size, who can dance even as good as you can. If Reeser
engages you, it's fifteen per for the rest of the season, and a good
chance for next."
"All right, here goes!" cried Nance, recklessly, seizing paper and pen.
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