Believe You Me!

by Nina Wilcox Putnam

IV

But I will here set down my unspoken reasons, which was that fine as it is to walk out to your rich friends and pluck a thousand worth of stamps per each off them and of course nobody but thinks the rich should have them, too, I had a strong hunch that the reason for selling stamps at five dollars or even two bits, was because every one could get in on a good thing that way. Somehow there seemed something too up-stage about going in only for the high spots, and after ordering the cards I hurried home full of determination to make a stab at selling to the common herd and with a terrible appetite and anxious as could be over the one o'clock mail.

Well, the last two was doomed to a immediate disappointment because the censor was sitting just as tight as ever and there was only cereal for lunch. Believe you me it give me sort of a jolt when I sat down to so little and Ma's face was not any too cheering. We commenced to eat in silence which being both perfect ladies was the only thing to do as it was also burned. But after a minute Ma lay down on the job. She pushed her dish over toward me in disgust.

"Try that on your piano, Mary Gilligan!" she says.

"Well, Ma, you know what war is," I says. "And we'll get a good meal at the Ritz to-night to make up!"

Well, anyways, sustained more by patriotism than by what I had eat, I set out to put over a scheme I had all hatched out in my head for using places which was already kind of organized, as my selling agents—do you get me? And the first place I went was to Maison Rosabelle's because—believe you me—that cheap dress I had bought off her needed a plastic surgeon by then. Maison was as usual giving a unconscious imitation of a trained seal, switching gracefully around the store with a customer which she was hypnotizing into all forgetfulness of prices. But finally I got her alone long enough to express what I thought about the dress and any lady will be able to imagine what that was. Then I asked her could she fall in with my scheme which was on Saturday to take only Thrift Stamps or W.S.S. for each purchase and sell them the stamps herself. Maison didn't enthuse over the idea, though she's rich at that.

"Why, dearie! Not on a bet!" she said. "It ain't that I'm not patriotic, but this establishment is exclusive!"

Well, I seen there was no use arguing with her, and I guess there never is with a woman which is marcelle-waved every day of her life, not to mention that cheap fake of a dress. Next one I buy of her without a guarantee will be for her funeral! So I just left her flat and went over to Chamberlin's. Of course it takes a whole lot more brains to run a enormous cabaret and restaurant like his than Maison has to use if less nerve, he not coming personally into contact with the customers like she does, and I counted on this. I went in by the main door where a lady sat selling W.S.S. and she bored me to death with them while a captain went to find Chamberlin. When I seen him coming I tried to assume that sprightly and convincing manner of the sidewalk W.S.S. hounds, but was overcome with that deep seated sense of being about to make a flivver, which also shows on most of them. However, Chamberlin was a genial good soul and was crazy over stamps. But he had beat me to it on the admission only by buying stamps on Saturday night.

"Better try among your rich friends, Miss La Tour!" he says. "And you'll be surprised how many you'll sell. That's the easiest way unless you use a gun!"

"I don't want to sell to my friends," says I. "I want to sell to everybody—get folks to chip in. The chipping-in idea is what is so good—get together and all that."

Well, believe you me—after this I tried a dozen places and every one of them, stores and all, where I had any influence or charge account, had got theirselves so full of W.S.S. schemes that I felt like a helpless babe in arms as the poet says, before I was through. There was no room for my little $11,000 worth any place: they had all stocked up, and what to do next I had no idea.

On the way to the Ritz that night Ma didn't talk steady like she usually does and seemed kind of low in her mind, and maybe in her stomach also which I was the same by then. Not to mention the censor which it is better not to for fear I might say what I thought and he a Government official.

But anyways no sooner was we inside the hotel than two society swells tackled us for W.S.S. Oh, they was democratic, just! They spoke right to us, and everything! But my goat was got by it.

"A regular hold-up!" I whispered to Ma. And as I spoke them fateful words I remembered that I owned a gun, which it was left from a piece I done for the movies and I had kept it for a souvenir. Of course I dismissed the thought at once like the sensible woman I am. But somehow it wouldn't exactly stay away.

Did you ever get to seeing things as they really was and wondering why on earth people go through such a lot of motions pretending things is not what they seem, as some guy so truly says—do you get me? As soon as I had said "hold-up" I realized that that was just what was being done. And when I realized that it was necessary to hold up people in order to get them to make a safe investment which would earn them a good net profit while saving their fool lives, I got so raving mad that a gun seemed too good for them. And mad at myself, too, for not seeing sooner how much my own Jim's welfare was hanging onto my shoulders. Somehow up to then I had really a idea that the bunch down in Washington was relieving me of all trouble and responsibility about this war. But now I seen it wasn't so. If the G.A.P. or Great American People was actually such boobs that they didn't flock up and wish their life savings onto such a scheme, they had ought to be made to, same as Ma used to hold my nose for my own good and believe you me—I can taste that oil to this day!

Well, anyways, this philosophy stuff kept going through my mind while running up a considerable check which Gawd knows we needed it or the undertaker would of conscripted us. And then all of a sudden who did I see but Ruby Roselle only two tables away and with her a husky young lounge-lizzard which goes around with her a lot—you know—one of the kind whose favorite flower is the wild oat, but never has anything to spend but the evening. And him and Ruby had their heads together and was watching me like the German spies in a movie which every one in the audience spots except their victims which of course are looking at the director close up front which is certainly the only reason they are fooled.

Well, anyways, I was surprised to see Ruby because Broadway places is more her speed, and I never see her in such refined surroundings before. But I realizing about her kind of patriotism I commenced wondering wasn't she there to watch me? Though for what reason I had no idea.

That night after the show, I asked Goldringer wouldn't he use the admission by W.S.S. Saturday, and he wouldn't because he had it on for one of his other theatres. And so I went home in despair and a taxi, and was further cheered by a empty letter-box.

In the morning the cards come—a thousand of them—and certainly more elegant looking than I had expected, I will say that for Ruby and reading as follows:

"The Theatrical Ladies W.S.S. Committee will deliver to ............ of ............ worth of W.S.S. stamps on presentation of this card. Payment for same is hereby acknowledged."

Then came a blank which it was up to me to fill in. Well, I didn't hesitate and after a hearty breakfast of crackers and milk and weak tea, I tied up the lace sleeves of my negligee and set to work at signing them. Believe you me, before I was done I quite see why President Wilson used a rubber stamp! But I didn't weaken until noon, when any one would have on the meal I'd had. And by then they was finished anyways and every one of them valid and as good as my cheque. Then just as I was feeling proud of myself in come Ma and I could see at once she was going to take a fall out of me in her sweet womanly way.

"If you ain't too busy with your war work," says Ma very gentle but firm, "I'd like to talk to you about something before we set down to the skeleton lunch which is waiting and can be continued in our next for all I care!" she says.

Well, I got that gone-around-the-middle feeling which I always get when Ma gives me a certain look, just like I used to when she'd tell me soap was good for washing out the mouths of kids which had told a lie. And so I just set there and listened.

"Now, Mary Gilligan," she commenced. "Do you know the size of the cheque you signed over to the hotel last night?"

"About twelve-fifty," I says sort of getting a glimmer.

"When your Pa and me was married he give me twelve a week for all our meals!" she says, and set back and folded her hands in a way which said all she hadn't.

"But times has changed," I says sort of feeble.

"But appetites has not!" says Ma. "And how can you keep in good training on this war-nonsense?" she wanted to know. "Not to mention me, which it might improve my figure but never my disposition?"

"But how about making war sacrifices and all, Ma?" I says. "Jim ain't eating like we done up till yesterday!"

"Nor he ain't eating twelve dollar dinners at the Ritz, neither," she reminds me, at which of course I shut up and she went on. "Now I dont believe being stingy to ourselves is really gonner help the war. You have strode in upon my department for once, Mary Gilligan, and I'm going to put you out! You don't know where to economize and I do. No more eating out, and a good sensible table at home, minus cream cakes," she says, "is what we do from now on!"

And with that she marches out leaving me flat as one of her own pan-cakes. Well, this was bad enough, but when Musette got after me as I was dressing to go for my five miles, I seen that my humbling for the day was not finished.

"That dress Madam bought yesterday," she began.

"You can have it!" I said, beating her to it, or so I thought.

"Thank you, I do not care for it," says Musette. "I was just remarking it is really not fit to wear again. Madam would of done better to pay a little more!"

Can you beat it? You can not! Two falls from one pride! Believe you me I took some walk that afternoon, and if I had wore a speedomiter I bet it would have registered a lot over five miles. And while I was walking I kept getting madder and madder and more and more worked up over what boneheads people was and how was a person to economize nowadays and how on earth would I sell all them stamps by Saturday night with a matinée in between and keep my promise to President Wilson? It begun to look like I was going to have to become one of them sidewalk pests. I got a real good picture of myself going up to the proud or pesky passer-by, and getting turned down so often that my spirit was bent thinking of it.

But—believe you me—I made up my mind that if I had to hold up anybody to make them invest in the World's Soundest Securities or W.S.S. I would hold them up good and plenty and no disguise about it. I thought again about my revolver, the one which I had used it in the movies when I done "The Dancer's Downfall" for them and kept it for a souvenir. I was that wrought up over the situation that by the time I got home I had pretty near decided I'd take that fire-arm to the theatre and lock the doors and come down front center and shoot out one of the lights to show I meant it and then take the money right off the audience. The theatre being my native element it seemed only natural to pull the trick there, only being a lady the gun really did look a little rough only not more so than the public deserved.