CHAPTER TWO
I was strolling down Broadway the other afternoon with Oscar when we happened to meet Miss Sabrina, the show girl. I introduced them, of course, and then retired to the background. This is what followed:
"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Jenkins. I've heard the party here speak of you."
"Yes; and I have heard him say several nice things about you."
"Is that so?"
"Sure. But don't take it to heart; he means well."
"Well, I can only say he treats me like a true friend."
"Speaking of treats, I'll buy the beer."
"My goodness! Ain't you afraid of catching cold—taking so much money out of your clothes all at once?"
"What was that you handed out? Come again, please."
"I merely remarked that it was awful kind of you."
"Oh, that's all right; I always was careless with my money."
"I always like this place; it reminds me so much of the back of the drug store in Emporia."
"Then you are from the West, Miss De Vear."
"Oh, yes, indeed, I'm a Western girl pure and simple—"
"You said, 'pure and simple,' did you not?"
"I most certainly did, and I'd like to see the party that's got anything on me. I come from a dead swell family, I do. I may be only a poor chorus girl, but by gosh! I was brung up right. Did you know that I was featured for three seasons in the church choir in my home town and would have had it for life if the stage manag—I mean the choirmaster hadn't forgot he was a gentleman; so I just quit rather than cause talk. Why, would you believe it?—my father was mayor of Emporia for nearly two terms. You'd be surprised if I told you my real name and some of the people I am related to. Say, what are you going to do with that book? Trying to dope out whether you can buy another drink, I suppose."
"No. I'm just keeping track of the girls I met whose fathers are mayors of towns. I've got forty-seven for Providence, R.I., fifteen for Peoria, Ill., ten for Atlanta, Ga., and your two makes seven for Emporia. I've got fifty-three for chief of police, twenty-one fire captains, and eleven postmas—"
"Excuse me, but are you trying to infer that I am telling an untruth?"
"Oh, forget it! Can't you stand a little jolly without going up in the air?"
"Well, I'll accept your apology, but I don't like to have people casting slurs on my pa and ma, and beer wont appease my wrath when I feel like a highball.
"Go as far as you like. I was only ordering what I thought you were accustomed to."
"Say, Mr. Percival B. Fresh, you certainly are the village wag when it comes to the Oriental repartee, ain't you?"
"Sure I am, but I have to go to the mat when they commence to dish out this Emporia humor. Oh. Laza! Do you care for the one in red?"
"Of course I may go wrong, but in my mind no gentleman would make remarks about another girl when he is with a lady."
"Say, girlie, you're all right—lovely hair, beautiful eyes and all that—but cut it; drop in your penny and get wise to yourself. That's a great show you are with."
"When was you out front?"
"Night before last."
"Night before last! My Heavens! Wasn't I a sight? You know the girl I dress with had been out to a wine supper and she came splashing into the dressing room lit up like a show window and cried my makeup box full of tears over the death of her baby sister, and the way I had to put it on I thought was sure good for a fine, and to make matters worse some hussy got next to all my toothpicks and I had to use a hairpin for a liner; but did you notice the way that cat of a soubrette keeps me out of the spotlight? Professional jealousy, that's all; but it don't do me no good to kick, because the stage manager sends her silk stockings and that kind of junk, while the best I get is a chance to hold hands with the electrician; but, of course, he gets his orders."
"Say, that piece of work that stands on the end opposite you is all to the berries, ain't she?"
"Her!"
"Surest thing you know. She looks like a night-blooming pippin to me."
"My, gracious, Mr. Jenkins, I never knocked a living soul, but I don't mind telling you as a friend that I personally would not degrade myself by speaking to her, and of course you know that the hair she wears is not her own. I haven't a thing in the world against the poor creature, but it has been breathed around the company that she is not all she should be. Of course, I don't know positively, but it is what everybody says, and I only wish she would make good with that four bits of mine."
"Well, I'm glad there's no hard feeling between you two, as I would like to meet her."
"I'm very sorry, but you will have to pardon me if I refuse to give you a knockdown, for I would steer no friend of a friend of mine up against a flim flam where there's so many nice girls running loose. Take Tessie Samonies, for example, she ain't very pretty, but she's awfully cute, and after she gets a couple of sloe gins boosted into her she certainly is the life of the party."
"All right, frame it up for me and I'll open wine or a window or something to show that I'm a true sport."
"You bet I will, and we'll have a nice little family party, no knocking or nothing; just sit and talk real friendly like."
"That's the idea and if anyone starts the anvil chorus they get the skiddo. What? Who will we have?"
"Well, let's see, we'll have Tessie and you, me and Silent Murphy here—and let's see who else?"
"Joe Zeweibaum and Miss Veronique."
"Not yet. Joe is all right in a crowd if you can keep him from talking about his sales, but the dame—not for me, for if there's any one gets my goat she's it."
"Shall we have Frank Millar and his first wife?"
"Oh, heavings! No! For if we did his third wife would hear about it and then she would knock me to my husband, for you know they are engaged, so if she hears anything about me you can bet she plays it up strong."
"Well, can't you think of some one else?"
"No, I don't know a soul that is any good but us four. My goodness, I've got to roll my hoop and do a shopping number, get my hair gargled—I slept in it last night—and see a sick friend.
"Fate sure does sic tribulations on me at every turn of the road. This business of hunting employment has got to be so balmy that I snort and jump sideways every time anybody says 'job.'
"Now that the first of the year has kicked in, I thought everything would be as merry as a marriage bell, but as yet there hasn't been a ripple on the water. The only thing that acts as a star of hope to my miserable existence is a date with a Summer stock that opens the first of June, and there is a heap of smoke around that. I wish some one would tip me off to some way of earning an honest living without having to resort to a sock full of sand or a strong arm. But why be downhearted? I haven't drunk up all my Christmas presents yet. As a last hope I can load upon them and get some kind ambulance to drag me up to the dippy department of some nice hospital. Honest, I am getting so thin that before long I won't be able to understudy a drop of water in Mr. Hawk's Hippodrome.
"A nice gentleman presented himself to me on Broadway the other evening and, after passing the compliments of the season, invited me out to inhale a young table d'hote. The way I sprang to his side made a leap for life seem like sinful idleness. And where do you think he took me? I ask as a friend, Where do you think he took me? To one of those joints where you get everything from soup to nuts, including a scuttle full of red ink for thirty-five scudi. I was going to balk and rear in the harness when he started to lead me up the steps of the foundry, but as I always maintained discretion is the better part of valor, I'm two-bits ahead anyway you play it. So I climb into the nosebag without a peep. Yet—would you believe it?—when that wop came to cash in he shook the mothballs out of a roll of bills that looked like nine miles' worth of hall carpet. I had been acting very reserved heretofore, but when he made this flash he commenced to look like a very dear friend of mine who had been very kind to me in moments of adversity. I apprised him of the fact, and the dog had the temerity to pin his pocket shut with a safety pin right before my eyes. I come to find out later that he was a press agent. Ain't it scandalous the way the Friars wine and dine the dramatists every few weeks? I tried to agitate a bunch for the chorus girls to give a dinner to Ben Teal or William Seymour, but while they were all willing to be in on the big eat the way they ducked the financial responsibilities would have made you think it was a half-salary clause.
"The other day I put my ear to the ground and then cavorted madly around to Mr. Savage's office to see if there was anything doing in the 'Merry Widow' line. The handsome gentleman on the other side of the desk allowed a ripple of merriment to float over his features and then spake as follows: 'All we got to do is to toll the bell in the old church tower and nine companies will answer like the fire department.' You know I could have gone with the Paris 'Prince of Pilson' company, but those French gentlemen are so emotional. One tried to bite my ear in Jack's the other night.
"Did I tell you about Mamie de Vere becoming a bride again? She believes in marrying at leisure and divorcing in haste. The justice of the peace that always ties her nuptial knot told her that if she bought a ticket she could save 50 cents per wedding and he would hand it to the happy bridegroom as her dowry. Well, anyway they got maried after the show, so that she wouldn't loose her job. I was maid of honor. Honest I was. Don't it sound funny? And I carried her bouquet as the bridal party marched up the hall to the office of the justice of the peace. Just as he was about to pronounce the last sad rites a hurdy-gurdy started playing 'Don't Get Married Any More, Ma,' with variations. Well, it made Mamie so nervous. You know she always was a hysterical creature. It made her so nervous that she had to have Wilbur—that's her husband—go out and put a bug on the Ginny before she would allow the flag to drop. Then we went out and had our wedding breakfast. There were six or eight in the crowd, I don't rightly remember which, for sometimes there would be only a few and then again it would be a turbid throng.
"A couple of whisky sales gentlemen joined our little gathering and proposed a race. You know I do so love athletic sports. I don't mean prize fighters or ball players, but feats of strength. The whisky gentlemen had a little the best start, for they had been running trial heats. The way we staged that drinking number was a crime. How we ended up I care not, neither do I spin. I can merely state that Mamie and I slid for home in a sea-going taxicab, leaving Wilbur saying things to the head waiter that no lady would listen to.
"Oh, say, are you here with any extra junk? No, this ain't no touch. But if you have got a reckless bundle I know how you can double it in a few weeks. A gentleman friend of mine was captain of a fake wire-tapping game until he got put out of business by the hard times and the lack of suckers—synonymous. He is selling stock of a proposition that has anything from Goldfield chased back to the desert. This is the scheme: Listerine. He's going to train carrier pigeons to rush the growler. The Chorus Girls' Union have already elected him an honorary vice-president. You see, he gets these birds and trains them to carry the pail in their teeth and smell out the nearest saloon, even a blind tiger—no matter where they are. Then he rents the birds out by the dozen to the theatrical organizations—special rates to musical comedies—so that all the poor merry-merry has to do if there is no gentleman without is get a bird from the property man, beat it for the furnished room, drop ten cents in the bucket, write a little note to the bartender merely stating: 'Mother has company, so not so much foam, please,' open the window and start the dove of peace on its mission of happiness. You needn't be afraid of the pigeon sneaking up an alley and drinking half of it and then coming back with the stall, 'The boss is on tonight; there ain't no bellhop to tip and all the bird wants is three or four grains of corn, mother, and its just as happy and care free as if you opened wine. Won't that be a boon to humanity, though? If he don't get a Carnegie medal things are run wrong. Another stunt he is going to pull off is canned cheese sandwiches. Well, I got to toddle along. The Ladies' Auxiliary to the Anvil Chorus is going to hold a meeting in Alla Sweenie's apartments. Was you ever one of them? Well, when those dames get on the job and are grouped it makes Elinor Glyn's opinion of the Pilgrim Mothers seem like words of praise. So long."
In which Sabrina receives money from an unexpected source, and brings to light how she came to receive it and what she intends doing when the entire sum is given her.