She answered in kind, and the acquaintanceship was progressing most favorably when a messenger of the theater manager’s office staff appeared with early editions of the morning papers. Instantly every other interest was submerged.
“Give me The Ledger,” demanded Betty. “I want to see what Gurney says.”
“Something pleasant surely,” said Banneker. “He told me that the play was an assured success.”
As she read, Betty’s vivacious face sparkled. Presently her expression changed. She uttered a little cry of disgust and rage.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the author.
“Gurney is up to his smartnesses again,” she replied. “Listen. Isn’t this enraging!” She read:
“As for the play itself, it is formed, fashioned, and finished in the cleverest style of tailor-made, to Miss Raleigh’s charming personality. One must hail Mr. Laurence as chief of our sartorial playwrights. No actress ever boasted a neater fit. Can you not picture him, all nice little enthusiasms and dainty devices, bustling about his fair patroness, tape in hand, mouth bristling with pins, smoothing out a wrinkle here, adjusting a line there, achieving his little chef d’oeuvre of perfect tailoring? We have had playwrights who were blacksmiths, playwrights who were costumers, playwrights who were musical-boxes, playwrights who were, if I may be pardoned, garbage incinerators. It remained, for Mr. Laurence to show us what can be done with scissors, needle, and a nice taste in frills.
“I think it’s mean and shameful!” proclaimed the reader in generous rage.
“But he gives you a splendid send-off, Miss Raleigh,” said her leading man, who, reading over her shoulder, had discovered that he, too, was handsomely treated.
“I don’t care if he does!” cried Betty. “He’s a pig!”