"Me an' Greenberg played the same bill with him twenty years ago." The
Judge leaned forward, and a strong odor of whisky enveloped the caller.
"Could you slip me four bits for some liniment?"
The critic smiled. "There's a dollar, Regan. Try Scotch for a change. It's better for you than these cheap blends. And don't breathe toward a lamp, or you'll ignite."
The Judge laughed wheezingly. "I do take a drop now and then."
"A drop? You'd better take a tumble, or Bergman will let you out."
"See here, you know all the managers, Mr. Pope. Can't you find a job for a swell dame?" the Judge inquired, anxiously.
"Who is she?"
"Lottie Devine. She's out with the 'Peach Blossom Girls.'"
"Lottie Devine. Why, she's your wife, isn't she?"
"Sure, and playing the 'Wheel' when she belongs in musical comedy. She dances as good as she did when we worked together—after she gets warmed up—and she looks great in tights—swellest legs in burlesque, Mr. Pope. Can't you place her?"
"She's a trifle old, I'm afraid."