Her voice broke on the last word and tears came into her eyes despite the struggle she was making to hold herself in hand. Jimmy came toward her, but she waved him off hysterically. McClintock watched the proceedings in amazement.
“What’s the idea, Lolita?”, began the press agent beseechingly. “I don’t get you. I don’t understand.”
“Don’t try to tell me that,” ran on Lolita, who was now half sobbing. “Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t turn me down when that English girl came into the park with all those society people and that you didn’t get together with that Wilkins fellow to have me left there so you could get a better story out of it with her. You fixed it all up and you can’t tell me that you didn’t because I just know, that’s all. I had a sweater on under my dress so’s I wouldn’t catch cold, and I had milk chocolate in my pocket and I’d written home to mother about it’s going to happen and telling her not to worry about anything she might read in the papers the first day, and now nothing’s happened at all to me and I’ve been made a fool of and it’s all your fault if you ever try to come near me again or speak to me I’ll slap your face, Mr. James T. Martin, I’ll slap your face. Do you hear me, Mr. James T. Martin?—I’ll slap your fresh little face.”
She was gone before Jimmy could remonstrate. The door closed behind her with a more reverberating bang than the one which had heralded her entrance. Jimmy dropped into the nearest chair and gazed vacantly into space. McClintock shook him roughly by the shoulder.
“Say,” he shouted. “What in hell is this all about?”
“She handed me the mitt, Mac—she’s handed me the mitt, and she wouldn’t even let me explain,” responded Jimmy brokenly. “It’s the real heart-throb stuff this time, Mac, the real heart-throb stuff. I had everything framed up for her and this English jane just drops in like a joker runnin’ wild and wins the hand.”
“You had what framed?”
“Why—this drifting out to sea stunt,” replied Jimmy in a dead voice.
“This drifting out to sea—you don’t—you can’t mean that this thing is a plant,” gasped the manager incredulously.
“Of course it is,” returned the press agent with something of the old note of self-assertiveness in his voice. “I had it all fixed up for Lolita, and now this society dame is goin’ to get away with all the head-lines. When I saw Wilkins pull her into the car I didn’t think he’d go all the way through, but it looks as if he’s decided to. There’s no use in worryin’ about it. Every little thing is comin’ out all right—and say—don’t forget to remember that it’s goin’ to be some story now—some story.”