The establishment was, as Joan had anticipated, in sole charge of Butch, who occupied a tilted chair, his lean nose exploring the sporting pages of _The Evening Journal_. Inevitably, a half-consumed Sweet Caporal cigarette ornamented his cynic mouth. He greeted Joan with a flicker of amusement. "'Lo, kid!" he said: and threw aside the paper. "What's doing?" "Edna said you wanted to see me." "Yeh: that's right." Butch yawned liberally and thrust his hat to the back of his head. "Well?" said the girl sharply. "What do you want?" Butch delayed his answer until he had inserted a fresh cigarette between his lips, lighted it from the old, and inhaled deeply. Interim he looked her over openly, with the eyes of one from whom humanity has no secrets. "Dja land that job?" he enquired at length, smoke trickling from his mouth and nostrils, a grim smile lurking about his lips. "Haven't tried yet." "But you're goin' to?" "Of course." "What line? Chorus girl or supe in the legit?" "I'm going to try to do anything that turns up," Joan affirmed courageously. "Try anythin' once, eh?" murmured the boy with profound irony. "Well, where you goin' to hang out till you land?" The lie ran glibly off her tongue this time: "With Maizie Dean--Two-eighty-nine West Forty-fifth." "That where you stayed last night?" "Yes ..." she faltered, already beginning to repent and foresee unhappy complications in event Butch should try to find her at the address she had given. The boy got up suddenly and stood close to her, searching her face with his prematurely knowing eyes. "Look here, kid!" he said roughly. "Hand it to me straight now: on the level, there ain't no man mixed up in this?" She was able to meet his gaze without a tremor: "On the dead level, Butch." "That's all right then. Only...." "Only what?" "There'll be regular trouble for the guy, if I ever find out you've lied to me." "What business--" "Ah, cut that!" snarled Butch. "You're my sister--see? And you're a damn' little fool, and somebody's got to look out for you. And that means me. You go ahead and try this stage thing all you like--but duck the men, duck 'em every time!" He eyed her momentarily from a vast and aloof coign of vantage. She was dumb with resentment, oppressed by amazement and a little in awe of the boy, her junior though he was. "Now, lis'en: got any money?" "No--yes--fifty cents," she stammered. "That ain't goin' to carry you far over the bumps. Who's goin' to put up for you while you're lookin' for this job-thing? Your frien' Maizie?" "I don't know--I guess so--yes: I'm going to stay with her." "Well, you won't last long if you don't come through with some coin every little while." Without warning Butch produced a small packet of bills from his trouser-pocket. "Djever see them before?" he enquired, with his mocking smile. Joan gasped: "My money--!"