I kept shut. For I wasn’t going to bite on his old gag, whatever it was.
“He’s here to sign up Miss Prindle,” the gang leader went on. “He wants her to be his leading lady. Five hundred thousand dollars a year. Better than pumping a sewing machine, hey? Oh, I tell you, your beauty soap is wonderful stuff.”
“Beat it,” I scowled. “You can’t string me.”
“You’re awful smart, aren’t you?”
“I’m not bragging about it.”
The leader laughed and gave his companions another wink.
“We know something that you don’t know.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” went the gang. “Beauty soap. Haw! haw! haw!”
They didn’t know much I told myself, turning stiffly away.
While I was on bell-boy duty that afternoon a factory site committee came to the hotel and waited restlessly in the lobby for more than an hour. But Gennor, of course, failed to keep his [[171]]appointment. Finally they went away, muttering and wagging their heads.