Betty followed him into the shop. There were birds in cages on the walls, and, patroling the floor, a great company of cats, each with its leather collar. One rubbed itself against Betty’s skirt. She picked it up, and began to stroke it. And, looking over its head at Mr. Jarvis, she was aware that he was beaming sheepishly.
His eyes darted away the instant they met hers, but Betty had seen enough to show her that she had mistaken nervousness for truculence. Immediately, she was at her ease, and womanlike, had begun to control the situation. She made conversation pleasantly, praising the cats, admiring the birds, touching lightly on the general subject of domestic pets, until her woman’s sixth sense told her that her host’s panic had passed, and that she might now proceed to discuss business.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming to you, Mr. Jarvis,” she said. “You know you told me to if ever I were in trouble, so I’ve taken you at your word. You don’t mind?”
Mr. Jarvis gulped, and searched for words.
“Glad,” he said at last.
“I’ve left
She was surprised and gratified to see a look of consternation spread itself across Mr. Jarvis’ face. It was a hopeful sign that he should take her cause to heart to such an extent.
But Mr. Jarvis’ consternation was not due wholly to solicitude for her. His thoughts at that moment, put, after having been expurgated, into speech, might have been summed up in the line: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen the saddest are these, ‘It might have been’!”
“Ain’t youse woikin’ dere no more? Is dat right?” he gasped. “Gee! I wisht I’d ‘a’ known it sooner. Why, a guy come to me and wants to give me half a ton of the long green to go to dat poiper what youse was woikin’ on and fix de guy what’s runnin’ it. An’ I truns him down ‘cos I don’t want you to be frown out of your job. Say, why youse quit woikin’ dere?” His eyes narrowed as an idea struck him. “Say,” he went on, “you ain’t bin fired? Has de boss give youse de trundown? ‘Cos if he has, say de woid and I’ll fix him for youse, loidy. An’ it won’t set you back a nickel,” he concluded handsomely.
“No, no,” cried Betty, horrified. “Mr. Smith has been very kind to me. I left of my own free will.”
Mr. Jarvis looked disappointed. His demeanor was like that of some mediaeval knight called back on the eve of starting out to battle with the Paynim for the honor of his lady.
“What was that you said about the man who came to you and offered you money?” asked Betty.
Her mind had flashed back to Mr. Parker’s visit, and her heart was beating quickly.
“Sure! He come to me all right an’ wants de guy on de poiper fixed. An’ I truns him down.”
“Oh! You won’t dream of doing anything to hurt Mr. Smith, will you, Mr. Jarvis?” said Betty anxiously.
“Not if you say so, loidy.”
“And your—friends? You won’t let them do anything?”
“Nope.”
Betty breathed freely again. Her knowledge of the East Side was small, and that there might be those there who acted independently of Mr. Jarvis, disdainful of his influence, did not occur to her. She returned to her own affairs, satisfied that danger no longer threatened.
“Mr. Jarvis, I wonder if you can help me. I want to find some work to do,” she said.
“Woik?”
“I have to earn my living, you see, and I’m afraid I don’t know how to begin.”
Mr. Jarvis pondered. “What sort of woik?”
“Any sort,” said Betty valiantly. “I don’t care what it is.”
Mr. Jarvis knitted his brows in thought. He was not used to being an employment agency. But Betty was Betty, and even at the cost of a headache he must think of something.
At the end of five minutes inspiration came to him.
“Say,” he said, “what do youse call de guy dat sits an’ takes de money at an eatin’-joint? Cashier? Well, say, could youse be dat?”
“It would be just the thing. Do you know a place?”
“Sure. Just around de corner. I’ll take you dere.”
Betty waited while he put on his coat, and they started out. Betty chatted as they walked, but Mr. Jarvis, who appeared a little self-conscious beneath the unconcealed interest of the neighbors, was silent. At intervals he would turn and glare ferociously at the heads that popped out of windows or protruded from doorways. Fame has its penalties, and most of the population of that portion of the Bowery had turned out to see their most prominent citizen so romantically employed as a squire of dames.
After a short walk Bat halted the expedition before a dingy restaurant. The glass window bore in battered letters the name, Fontelli.
“Dis is de joint,” he said.
Inside the restaurant a dreamy-eyed Italian sat gazing at vacancy and twirling a pointed mustache. In a far corner a solitary customer was finishing a late breakfast.
Signor Fontelli, for the sad-eyed exile was he, sprang to his feet at the sight of Mr. Jarvis’ well-known figure. An ingratiating, but nervous, smile came into view behind the pointed mustache.
“Hey, Tony,” said Mr. Jarvis, coming at once to the point, “I want you to know dis loidy. She’s going to be cashier at dis joint.”
Signor Fontelli looked at Betty and shook his head. He smiled deprecatingly. His manner seemed to indicate
