for you, and of course I can't compose as fast as you can type, there would be something else, and the salary would be regular."
"I should like a regular post," the girl admitted sullenly. "So would any one who's out of work, of course."
"The salary," Elizabeth explained, "is twenty-five dollars a week. The hours are nine to six. You have quite a comfortable room there, but when you have private work connected with the theatre you can bring it home if you wish. Mr. Ware tells me that you work very quickly. You will finish all that you have for him to-day, won't you?"
"I shall have it finished in half an hour."
"Then will you be at the New York Theatre to-morrow morning at nine o'clock," Elizabeth suggested. "There are some parts to be copied. It will be very nice indeed if you like the work, and I think you will."
The girl stood there, irresolute. It was obvious that she was trying to bring herself to utter some form of thanks. Then there was a loud knock at the door, which was opened without waiting for any reply. The janitor stood there with a small key in his hand, which he threw down upon a table.
"Key of number two hundred, miss," he said. "Let me have it back again to-night."
He closed the door and departed.
"Two hundred?" Philip exclaimed. "Why, that's my old room, the one up above."
"I must see it," Elizabeth insisted. "Do please let us go up there. I meant to ask you to show it me."
