Masterson grinned. "I guess likely you ought to know, if anybody does. But I got a little one of my own framed up, too. How's this? All men want to be heroes and all women want to be martyrs."
The three laughed cynically together. They had learned their practical psychology in a thorough school. Madam Spoll chuckled for some time pleasantly.
"You're the one had ought to write a book, Masterson. I'll bet it would beat out Payson's!"
"Lord!" said Vixley. "If I was to write down the things that have happened to me, just as they occurred—"
"It wouldn't be fit to print," Madam Spoll added. Vixley looked flattered.
"How about that pickle-girl?" he asked next.
"What's that?" said Doctor Masterson.
"Oh, a new graft of Gertie's. Did she come, Gert?"
"I should say she did," Madam Spoll replied. "And I got her on the string staking out dopes, too. Why, she's mixed up with a fellow at the Risdon Iron Works, and she don't dare to say her soul's her own since she told me."
"Nothin' like a good scandal to hold on to people by," Masterson remarked. "Where'd you get her?"