"Don't you like them?"
"Hate 'em! I'd use 'em to scrub the windshield if I had my way."
"Why—aren't they yours?"
"Oh, I suppose so; as much as that rubber-tired igloo is mine. They're my props, like the two British Peers on the box. Gee! I'd like to stick chewing-gum in the side-whiskers of the tall one—the one with the cramps in his elbows. His name's Riley, and he gets nine dollars a week for looking like that. A man's board bill isn't particular how it's made nowadays."
"How—FUNNY!" Lorelei was eying the speaker with undisguised curiosity.
"You're not a Frenchwoman?"
"Agnes Smith is the name. Decent by descent, but an actress by advertising. What's YOUR game?"
"Um-m—My nose is straight; I don't limp; so I'm an actress by force of feature."
"Married?"
"Hardly."
"Want to be?"