“‘Wicked!’ ‘Rotten!’ ‘Cheap!’” she repeated slowly, but breathing hard. “Listen to the infant! ‘Rotten!’” She lingered on the word as if it had a familiar sound. “Well, what is life, anyhow?” she flung out suddenly at the six-foot “infant.” “Maybe you think this theater business is like going to Sunday-school—that all we have to do is to hold goody-goody hands and sing those salvation songs! Salvation! Gee!” And Gee-gee folded her arms. She seemed to meditate. “You know what kind of salvation a girl gets down on old Broadway?” she scoffed. “Aren’t the men nice and kind? Don’t they take you by the hand and say: ‘Come on, little girl, I’ll give you a helping hand.’ Oh, yes, they give you a helping hand. But it isn’t ‘up.’ It’s all ‘down.’ And every one wants to see how deep they can make it. Say, Infant, I was born in one of those avenues with letters. People like these”—looking toward the house—“don’t know nothing about that kind of an avenue. It ought to be called a rotten alley. That’s where I learned what ‘rotten’ meant. Nice young gentlemen like you who toddled about with nursie in the park can’t tell me.”
Bob tried not to look small; he endeavored to maintain his dignity. He was almost sorry he had got Gee-gee started. The conversation was leading into unexpected channels. “Why, I toddled about in rottenness,” went on Gee-gee. “Gutters were my playground.” Dreamily. She seemed to be forgetting her resentment in these childhood recollections. “Sometimes I slept in cellar doorways, with the rotten cabbages all around. But they and all the rest of the spoiled things seemed to agree with me. I’ve thrived on rottenness, Infant!” Bob winced. “It’s all that some girls get. Men!” And Gee-gee laughed. Here was a topic she could dilate on. Again the opal eyes gleamed tigerishly. “I’ve got a lot of cause to love ’em. Oh, ain’t they particular about their reputations!” Gee-gee’s chuckle was fiendish. “Poor, precious little dears! Be careful and don’t get a teeny speck of smudge on their snowy white wings! My! look out! don’t splash ’em! Or, if you do, rub it off quick so the people in church won’t see it. But when it comes to us”—Gee-gee showed her teeth. “I learned when I was in the gutter that I had to fight. Sometimes I had to fight with dogs for a crust. Sometimes with boys who were worse still. Later, with men who were worst of all. And,” said Gee-gee, again tossing her auburn mane, “I’m still fighting, Infant!”
“Which means,” said Bob slowly, overlooking these repeated insults to his dignity, “you aren’t here just to exhibit those histrionic talents you talked about?”
Gee-gee laughed. She was feeling better-natured now that she had relieved herself by speaking of some of those “wrongs” she and her sex had undoubtedly to endure. There were times when Gee-gee just had to moralize; it was born in her to do so. And she liked particularly to grill the men, and after the grilling—usually to the receptive and sympathetic Gid-up—she particularly liked, also, to go out and angle for one. And after he had taken the hook—the deeper the better—Gee-gee dearly loved the piscatorial sport that came later, of watching the rushes, the wild turnings, the frenzied leaps.
She even began to eye the infant now with sleepy green eyes. But no hook for him! He wasn’t hungry. He wouldn’t even smell of a bait. Gee-gee felt this, having quite an instinct in such matters. Perhaps experience, too, had helped make her a good fisherwoman. So she didn’t even bother making any casts for Bob. But she answered him sweetly enough, having now recovered her poise and being more sure of her ground:
“It doesn’t mean anything of the sort. Our act has been praised in a number of the newspapers, I would have you understand.”
“All right,” said Bob, as strenuously as he was capable of speaking. “I only wanted you to know that between you and me it will be—fight!”
This was sheer bluff, but he thought it might deter Gee-gee a little. It might curb just a bit that lurid imagination of hers.
Gee-gee got up now, laughing musically. Also, she showed once more her white teeth. Then she stretched somewhat robust arms.
“Fight with you?” she scoffed. “Why, you can’t fight, Infant! You haven’t grown up yet.”