"Well--if that's so--why you'd better
drop out of the profession--and get away from Bob Burlingham."
"Can't I have a place without--what you said?"
"Not as pretty a girl as you. And if they ain't pretty the
public don't want 'em."
Susan went to the door leading into the office. "No--the other
door," said Blynn hastily. He did not wish the office boy to
read his defeat in Susan's countenance. He got up himself,
opened the door into the hall. Susan passed out. "Think it
over," said he, eyes and mouth full of longing. "Come round in
a day or two, and we'll have another talk."
"Thank you," said Susan. She felt no anger against him. She felt
about him as she had about Jeb Ferguson. It was not his fault;
it was simply the way life was lived--part of the general misery
and horror of the established order--like marriage and the rest
of it.
"I'll treat you white," urged Blynn, tenderly. "I've got a soft
heart--that's why I'll never get rich. Any of the others'd ask
more and give less."
She looked at him with an expression that haunted him for
several hours. "Thank you. Good-by," she said, and went down the
narrow, rickety stairs--and out into the confused maze of
streets full of strangers.
CHAPTER XVII
AT the hotel again; she went to Burlingham's room, gathered his
belongings--his suit, his well-worn, twice-tapped shoes, his one
extra suit of underclothes, a soiled shirt, two dickeys and
cuffs, his whisk broom, toothbrush, a box of blacking, the
blacking brush.
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