Nance found looking on an agonizing business. Not that she wanted to dance with the roughnecks any more than Birdie did. Their common experience at Forest Home had given them certain standards of speech and manner that lifted them just enough above their kind to be scornful. But to sit against the wall watching other people dance was nothing short of agony to one of Nance's temperament. "Come on and have a try with me, Birdie," she implored. "I'll pay the dime." And Birdie, with professional disdain, condescended to circle the room with her a few times. That first dance was to Nance what the taste of blood is to a young tiger. For days after she could think of nothing else. "Never you mind," Birdie promised her. "When I get back on the road, I'm going to see what I can do for you. Somebody's always falling out of the chorus, and if you keep up this practising with me, you'll be dancing as good as any of 'em. Ask old man Demry; he played in the orchestra last time we was at the Gaiety." But when Nance threw out a few cautious remarks to Mr. Demry, she met with prompt discouragement: "No, no, my dear child," he said uneasily. "You must put that idea out of your head. The chorus is no place for a nice girl." "That's what Dan says about the factory, and what Mrs. Snawdor says about housework, and what somebody says about everything I start to do. Looks like being a nice girl don't pay!" Mr. Demry took her petulant little chin in his thin old hand, and turned her face up to his. "Nancy," he said, "these old eyes have seen a good deal over the fiddle strings. I would rather see you go back to the glass factory, bad as it is, than to go into the chorus." "But I do dance as good as some of the girls, don't I, Mr. Demry?" she teased, and Mr. Demry, whose pride in an old pupil was considerable, had to acknowledge that she did. Uncle Jed's attitude was scarcely more encouraging. "No; I wouldn't be willin' to see you a playactor," he said, "walkin' round in skin tights, with your face all painted up." Nance knew before asking that Dan would disapprove, but she couldn't resist mentioning the matter to him. "That Birdie Smelts has been putting notions in your head," he said sternly. "I wish you'd quit runnin' with girls older than you. Besides, Birdie ain't your kind." "I'd like to know why?" Nance challenged him in instant loyalty to her friend. "Besides, who else have I got to run with? Maybe you think it ain't stupid drudging around home all day and never having a cent to call my own. I want to get out and do something." Dan looked down at her in troubled silence. "Mrs. Purdy's always asking me why I don't bring you to some of the meetings at the church. They have real nice socials." "I don't want to pray and sing silly old hymns!" cried Nance. "I want to dance."