Unopened she crammed the letter into her coat pocket. It would keep. There was not much time to prepare for dinner; the first gong had already sounded. Upstairs, however, in her bedroom, with the electric light turned on, she could deny herself no longer. There was time for one glance at what Paula had to say. Not that it could be anything vital. Her own last and most important letter to her friend had been mailed only four days ago; therefore they must have crossed in the post.
But even the most imaginative players, as it seems, never quite know the next turn in the game of life. No sooner had Mame torn open the letter than out fell a cheque for one hundred and fifty dollars.
XIX
MAME’S life had known its “moments.” This, however, was just the biggest it had known. Here was corn in Egypt. She examined the cheque, pressed it to her lips, and then reëxamined it in order to make sure that it was real.
There was a covering letter inside the envelope, nicely typed, from the office of the New York Monitor. So Paula had wangled herself a billet on the New York Monitor! One for her. It was a live paper. All sorts of whales wrote for the Monitor. Yes, Paula Wyse Ling was getting on.
The letter was dated Tuesday, 26th March. It began:
“Dear Mame, You must be wondering what has got me, or shall I say? what has got your script.”
Mame was perplexed.
“The truth is, things have been happening. I’ve lately taken up the post of assistant editor on this old-established and important journal. Still I ought to have acknowledged before now the stuff you sent me. Part of my excuse is there has been delay in sending it on from Cowbarn.”
Cowbarn!