"Well," he said at last, "I'll take a chance. I'll tell you about a job
I think you can get. Only it won't do you any good to use my name. If
the man you go to comes to me, I can't tell him anything about you but
what I know. His name's Albert Zeider and he's got a picture house three
doors down the street. He's just put in a glass cage out in front, and
he wants a pretty girl to sit in it and sell tickets. He hasn't been
able to get anybody yet that filled the bill. So maybe he'd take a
chance on you. Only, mind, don't tell him I recommended you."
"I won't," said Rose. "I won't go to him at all. I've walked the length
of Main Street and back this morning, and I won't sit in Mr. Zeider's
glass cage. I'll wash dishes or scrub floors, but I won't do that."
The proprietor flung out his hands with the air of a man of whom nothing
more could be expected.
"Well, then," he said, "if you won't take a decent job that's offered to
you ..."
"It's not a decent job," said Rose. "Not for me; not for a girl who's
looked on in this town as I am.
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