She gave her shoulders a little shake of relief.
"Very well!--I won't upset the apple-cart. I didn't much want to, anyway!"
Archie smiled at her widely. It was a smile that said, "I knew it!" and "Good girl!" and a number of other things that made Joan blush. She had come by insensible degrees to value rather highly the good opinion of her protégé.
"But there's one thing sure," he said, sobering. "You'll be wanting to get out of the apple-cart yourself!"
That, too, Joan had faced in her long night's vigil. The question of her future was no longer hovering in space. It was here, immediate, urgent. She would have liked if possible not to spend another hour under the roof that had been supplied by the late Mr. Calloway.
They discussed the matter of her living in every aspect.
"You mean you haven't got a red cent to your name, Miss Darcy? Gee!" muttered Archie. "What was the old chap thinking of? Oil stocks! Might as well have put the money on the races." Even in his loyal mind the Major had undergone something of an eclipse.
"Better, because then we could have seen it run," sighed Joan. "However, it's gone, and now I've got to get busy!" (Archibald's language was rather contagious.)
She told him of her two alternatives. The stage he absolutely vetoed.
"It's no place for a lady," he said stubbornly, and would listen to no argument. Joan suddenly remembered that his mother had been an actress. She did not pursue the question.
"Newspaper work might do," he admitted. "A society reporter with the pull you've got ought to be worth some money."
"A society reporter!--You mean I'd have to go to my friends' houses and publish what happens there? Oh, Archie, I'm afraid I couldn't do that."
"Why not?" he said innocently. "They like it."
But Joan persisted. "I'm willing to report _anything_ except society."
"Murders? Police courts?" he suggested grimly.
She laughed a little helplessly. "But, Archie, you veto everything I suggest! Really, you're not very helpful. Don't you understand that I've _got_ to earn my living, right at once? I'm unskilled labor. Beggars can't be choosers. You'd suppose nothing was good enough for me!"
"And it isn't!... Gosh!" he said miserably--(she saw that his big hands were shaking)--"The idea makes me right down sick! A little delicate thing like you, out in the scramble with the rest of us--! I know what it is, you see. Bad enough for a fellow, sometimes. I know the things a working girl has to do and stand for. Honest to God, I'd rather see you married!" he groaned.