“Poetry?” Adna mumbled.
“Advertising.”
“Oh!”
“Well, we didn't live together very long, and I was perfectly miser'ble every minute.”
“You poor little honey child!” said Mrs. Thropp, who felt her lamb coming back to her, and even Adna reached over and squeezed her hand and rubbed her knuckles with his rough thumb uncomfortably.
But it was good to have allies, and Kedzie went on:
“By an' by Gilfoyle got the offer of a position in Chicago, and he couldn't get there without borrowing all I had. But I was glad enough to pay it to him. I'd 'a' paid his fare to the moon if he'd 'a' gone there. Then I got a position with a moving-picture company—as a jobber—I began very humbly at first, you see, and I underwent great hardships.” (She was quoting now from one of her favorite interviews.) “My talent attracted the attention of the director, Mr. Ferriday. He stands very high in the p'fession, but he's very conceited—very! He thought he owned me because he was the first one I let direct me. He wanted me to marry him.”
“Did you?” said Adna, who was prepared for anything.
“I should say not!” said Kedzie. “How could I, with a husband in Chicago? He wasn't much of a husband—just enough to keep me from marrying a real man. For one day, who should come to the studio but Jim Dyckman!”
“Any relation to the big Dyckmans?” said Adna.