Laura. Now to be cook. (Laughing.) "The Tuesday Sociable" ought to see me now. Artist in the morning, cook at noon, artist in the afternoon. (Snorkey raps at the door F. and enters.)
Snorkey. (With letter.) Beg pardon, is there anybody here as answers to the name of A. B. C.?
Laura. (Aside.) My advertisement for work. Yes, give it to me.
Snorkey. (Seeing her face.) If I'd been taking something this morning, 'I'd say that I'd seen that face in a different sort of place from this.
Laura. Is there anything to pay? Why do you wait?
Snorkey. Nothing, Miss. It's all right. (Going—and aside.) But it ain't all right, Snorkey, old boy! (Goes out after looking at her, stops at window, and gazes in.)
Laura. (Without noticing him, opening letter.) Yes, an answer to my advertisement. (Reads.) To A. B. C.: "Your advertisement promises that you are a good linguist, and can, teach children, of any age. I have two daughters for whom I wish to engage your services while on a tour of Europe. Call at seven o'clock, this evening, at No. 207 W. 34th Street. Annersley." Hope at last—a home, and in another land soon. I was sure the clouds would not always be black above me! (Kisses letter. Snorkey re-entering.)
Snorkey. Miss, I say, Miss. (Laura starts. )—Sh———
Laura. What do you want?
Snorkey. Only one word and perhaps it may be of service to you. I'd do anything to serve you.
Laura. And why me?
Snorkey. I'm a blunt fellow, Miss, but I hope my way don't offend. Ain't you the lady that I brought a bouquet to on New Year's night—not here, but in a big house, all bright and rich—and who was so kind to a poor soldier?
Laura. (Faint and leaning against chair.) Whoever you may be, promise to tell no one you saw me here.
Snorkey. No fear, Miss! I promise.
Laura. Sacredly!
Snorkey. No need to do more than promise, Miss—I keeps my word. I promised Uncle Sam I'd stick to the flag—though they tore my arm off, and by darnation I stuck. I don't want to tell on you Miss. I want to tell on some one else.
Laura. What do you mean?
Snorkey. They're looking for you.
Laura. Who?
Snorkey. Byke. (Laura utters a loud cry and sinks on chair.) He's on it day and night. I've got his money in my pocket now, and you've got his letter in your hand this minute.
Laura. This?
Snorkey. Yes, it—his writin'—looks like a woman's, don't it? Lord! the snuff that man's up to, would make Barnum sneeze his head off. He's kept me in hand, 'cause he thinks I know you, having seen you that once. Every day he reads the advertisements, and picks out a dozen or so and says to me: "Snorkey, that's like my little pet," and then he sits down and answers them,
