“Now then, Celimene, come to it. We’ll start in this very afternoon. One letter for New York and one for Cowbarn, Iowa. Let us turn in that grand new opera we saw last night at Covent Garden and the private interview you had with that mossy-faced old dago who said he was the composer.”
Celimene approvingly helped Mame to some early asparagus. She owned she would never have thought of that.
“You would have, I expect,” said Mame generously. “But we must do the thing well. We shall be up against all the regular columnists of the New York papers. And we must go over bigger and better and brighter and breezier. So full of natural pep must we be that Elmer’s hair’ll curl like a crocodile’s tail.”
Go to it they did. That afternoon they worked like moles. They skimmed the cream of all that was happening in London, England. Mame loosed her descriptive powers, which were considerable. She guessed she knew just how to tickle the hick towns; while Lady Violet, who understood the taste of New York and Boston, artfully moderated the transports without taking out the pep.
Several items of spicy gossip were cunningly mingled with the regular news. “A little bird whispers that a certain Royal duke whose name must not be mentioned at the moment is paying court to the only daughter of a certain New Jersey banker. Wild horses will not force Celimene to divulge the name of the beaut in question, but her readers can be assured that when the hour of publication approaches they shall know a bit sooner than anyone else.”
“A risk, I fear.” Lady Violet was threatened with an attack of conscience. This tit-bit had gone round an exclusive dinner-table two nights before. It was some way ahead of the newspapers; it had been given more or less under the rose, and in Lady Violet’s opinion was a dangerous card to play. With all her Bohemianism she had inherited an old-fashioned respect for certain privacies and decorums. “Our Ambassador at Washington, if he happens to see it, may ask questions. He might want to know who Celimene is. Then there would be fuss this side the water and a too-enterprising journalist might find her name omitted from the next Court. And from our point of view, that would be a pity.”
Mame agreed. At all events with the latter part of the reasoning. The entrée was going to be one of the new firm’s assets. At the same time, the item in question was such a sure card to lead off with, that whatever happened she was sorely tempted to use it.
“That bit of eyewash is going to put the half-nelson on the Monitor.” When excited, Miss Du Rance had a tendency to mix her metaphors.
Her experienced friend shook the head of worldly wisdom. “There is Buck House to think of. It would be so easy to lose more than we gain.”
“We’ll gain big money. New York’ll give us a contract if we are first with the news. And I guess you’ve the influence to live down any bit of unpleasantness,” Mame shrewdly appended.