“You’re awful kind,” said the girl, holding out her hand. “I know it was you got Pomello interested.”
Now, O’Leary had carefully concealed from her the fact that it was Myrtle, who, in the bigness of her heart, had persuaded him to this act of generosity, divining, perhaps, the mute jealousy slumbering behind Millie’s quiet looks. At this moment Myrtle Popper came in tumultuously.
“Hurrah!” she cried. “I’ve heard the news! Won’t it be grand? I’ll make Pomello pay real hard cash too.”
“You’ll make him?” said Millie, drawing back. She glanced at O’Leary, bit her lip, and became suddenly very quiet.
“Take a look at the great work, Myrtle,” said Tootles, hastily coming to the rescue. O’Leary began a furious procession of ragtime up and down the piano, while Myrtle, unconscious of the jealousy she had aroused, passed behind the canvas.
“Gee, but that’ll go big!” she said, in admiration, seeing only her own portrait, which was indeed flattering.
“Pomello couldn’t take his eyes off it,” said Tootles maliciously.
“Honest, it’s wonderful! Say, isn’t Pansy cute, too?”
“Rather good of ‘the baron’—looks no end of a swell doesn’t he?”