But no more stirred. For a minute I thought my flivver was complete, and then I got a idea. I went over and beckoned to George, the orchestra leader, and shaking all over at my own nerve, I whispered to him. George grinned and passed along the whisper to his crew, and in another minute that audience was standing, every last one of them, and—believe you me—the Star Spangled Banner had never sounded so good to me before!
Well, anyways, my pep all come back and I jumped off the stage as I see the ushers couldn't possibly handle the orders alone, and wait or no wait, the way that audience took my hold-up was something grand, it was that good natured, although of course a Broadway crowd gets sort of hardened to having their money taken away from them roughly. They was lambs, and took cards so fast I couldn't have shuffled them good if it had been a game.
Well, anyways, when I finally got back to my dressing-room and the trained animals had come on at last—believe you me—I was all in, but not a card left, and not alone eleven thousand dollars but thirteen-fifty in actual cash! I didn't worry none about having too much as I never see a committee yet which couldn't use more money than it had ast for, the White Kittens always having a deficit. And then I just put the boodle away safe in my tin make-up box which I had emptied because it locked good, and took me and Musette and it home to Ma.
Well, that was about all for that, and I had a fine sleep that night after sending the President a wire telling him I had the money all right. And if only the censor had loosened up, I would have been perfectly happy, with all that cash in my little Burglar's Delight over the mantle-piece and a good real energy-making breakfast coming to me in the morning.
But alas for false security, as the poet says. No sooner had Ma and me ate breakfast next morning than in came Musette and says there are two gentlemen outside wants to see me. Well, it seems they wouldn't give their names so I says show them in for on account of Ma always making us dress in real clothes for breakfast Sundays, it was alright.
Well, in come two gentlemen then, and it was easy to see one was a cop. Why he didn't have green whiskers or something I dont know because the one citizen you can always spot is a cop, and that tweed suit was no disguise, although he seemed to think so. I got a awful funny feeling in my stomach at this sight although there was nothing on my mind but my hair pins. The other was a gentleman and no disguise about him, and I sort of took to him right away and dropped my society-comedy manner which is such a good weapon of defense against strangers because I knew right away he would see through it on account of him being the real thing.
"Miss LaTour?" he says politely.
"Yes," I says, "what can I do for you?"
"Alias Mary Gilligan?" says the cop, which was right in character and hadn't ought to of got Ma's goat like it done.