“Right-o! Nice little pair, eh, Nettie?” the man addressed threw the question back at the pink kimono; plainly this was their preferred way of conversing.
“May we—— Is Miss Aldine—— May we see Miss Aldine?” stammered Jane.
An exceedingly pudgy hand, decorated with several rings of great distinctness but little distinction, and souvenirs of buttered toast, dramatically struck the pink kimono where it was pinned together with a rhinestone bar.
“I am Miss Aldine—on the stage—Alyssa Aldine, leading lady of the comp’ny. In private I’m Mrs. Pete Mivle—he’s Sydney Fleming on the stage, plays leadin’ man to my heroines.” Mrs. Mivle beamed proudly on her Pete, who assumed a look reminiscent of his more picturesque rôles and twirled his moustache with a hand upon which a diamond of at least three karats gleamed, genuine but yellowish.
“Got that off a chap that went stoney broke, at a bargain,” he exclaimed, seeing Jane’s eyes fastened upon it with what he took for awe.
“Say, what d’you want?” continued Miss Aldine, actually Mrs. Mivle, kindly, but in a businesslike tone. “Not that we ain’t pleased to death to see you, but you must of had an objec’ in comin’—or was it for my autograph? Pete writes ’em.”
“Oh, no!” cried Jane, dismayed to hear sounds in Florimel’s throat that meant she was suffocating with laughter. “I came—I thought——” She stopped.
“Say it!” advised the small, thin woman who looked past forty, and who played the young girl parts in the company’s repertory because of her diminutive size. “We’ve breakfasted; we won’t eat you! Get it out of your system.”
“I meant to ask your advice about studying for the stage,” Jane said, by a supreme effort. “But there’s no use troubling you; ever so much obliged.”
“Cold feet so soon?” suggested Peter Mivle kindly. “Lots of kids get stage struck! If you wanted to follow the legitimate, we could use you. Of course you’re too young, but there are ways of dodging the law. You’d make a great team, red and black, blond and brunette. Sisters?”