“Want to know! I-talian peasant, hey! Fifth Avenue peasant with diamonds in her hair. Becomin’ to her, ain’t it.”
“I thought so.”
“Yup. She looks pretty enough! But she don’t need diamonds nor hand-organ clothes to make her pretty.”
Then, looking up from the photograph, he asked, “Give you this picture, did she?”
His friend’s embarrassment increased. “No,” he answered shortly. Then, after an instant’s hesitation. “That ball was given by the Astorbilts and was one of the most swagger affairs of the season. The Planet—the paper with which I was connected—issues a Sunday supplement of half-tone reproductions of photographs. One page was given up to pictures of the ball and the costumes worn there.”
“I see. Astonishin’ how folks do like to get their faces into print. I used to know an old woman—Aunt Hepsibah Tucker, her name was—she’s dead now. The pride of Aunt Hepsy’s heart was that she took nineteen bottles of ‘Balm of Burdock Tea’ and the tea folks printed her picture as a testimonial that she lived through it. Ho, ho! And society big-bugs appear to have the same cravin’.”
“Some of them do. But that of your niece was obtained by our society reporter from the photographer who took it. Bribery and corruption, of course. Miss Warren would have been at least surprised to see it in our supplement. I fancied she might not care for so much publicity and suppressed it.”
“Um-hm. Well, I guess you did right. I’ll thank you for her. By the way, I told Caroline where I was cal’latin’ to go this mornin’, and she wished to be remembered to you.”
Pearson seemed pleased, but he made no comment. Captain Elisha blew a smoke ring from his pipe.
“And say, Jim,” he added, embarrassed in his turn, “I hope you won’t think I’m interferin’ in your affairs, but are you still set against comin’ up to where I live? I know you said you had a reason, but are you sure it’s a good one?”