With Pee-wee refusing to explain there was just the shadow of a chance that he might be cruelly misjudged. For after all, photographs do not lie, and unfortunately Cousin Prudence and her friends knew little of “stage plays.” Grove and Artie, having created the sensation they had counted on, were quick to set Pee-wee right before the multitude.
“He was in a show,” said Artie before Pee-wee had a chance to stop them.
“You’re not supposed to tell! You’re not supposed to tell!” Pee-wee shouted. “On account of Aunt Sophia getting shocked! You’re not supposed to tell!”
“We should worry about Aunt Sophia,” said Artie; “if she never does anything worse than brand a horse with a cold iron in a play—”
“She can’t, she’s got rheumatism,” Pee-wee shouted.
“Oh, was it in a play?” Miss Dorothy Docile carolled forth. “Isn’t that just perfectly lovely!”
“I knew there was something romantic about him, even before I saw him,” said Sympathea.
“Oh, just to think he’s an actor like Douglas Fairbanks,” said Miss Kindheart.
“We won’t say a word to Aunt Sophia, will we, Prudence?” Sympathea said. “You all have to promise you won’t say a word to Aunt Sophia. That’s the dark chapter in his history and we won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Oh, isn’t it perfectly angelic to have a dark chapter in one’s history?”
“I’ve got darker ones than that,” said Pee-wee; “once I was out all night being kidnapped in an automobile, only I found I wasn’t being kidnapped after all.”