“Perhaps we’re not as impatient as you,” Helgin said, grinning.
“Or perhaps you hide your impatience more patiently—there are so many possibilities,” Oppendorf retorted.
“Say, Oscar Wilde once opened a small-talk shop—the store has been well patronized ever since,” Blanche said, flippantly.
The line wasn’t her own—it had been in the last novel she had read—but she wanted to see what its effect would be on these men, and whether it would impress them.
“The gal’s improving,” Helgin replied. “Come on, take off your little costume. You’re a college-student trying to write, and you thought you’d be more interesting if you posed as a slangy hair-dresser.”
“The best way to fool you people is not to pose at all,” Margaret said, smiling.
“It’s not a bad idea—I’ve tried it myself,” Oppendorf interjected.
“Ti-ti-tum, come on, let’s go to the party,” Margaret interrupted. “You can all keep it up on the way over.”
After they were all in a taxicab and speeding uptown, Helgin said to Blanche: “Didn’t you give Oppie a manuscript at the studio?”
“Yes, it’s something I wrote about the tearoom where we sat last night,” Blanche answered. “He’s such a frank man, and I know he’ll tell me whether it’s just trash, or not.”