FOR a week or more Gloria neither saw nor heard from the girl. At the end of that time she did, to her surprise, encounter the erstwhile bogus Sir Montrose without his hirsute adornments and in his proper person of Mr. Jacob Remsen, sauntering idly along the Park. Hailing him, she took him into her taxi. Mr. Remsen was not looking his customary sunny self.
“Did the law’s minions catch you in spite of your whiskers?” she asked.
“No. Case was compromised. So I’ve come back.”
“And what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to work.”
“Work! You?” said the actress with unfeigned and unflattering surprise. “Why? What’s the answer?”
“Ambition,” replied Mr. Remsen in a lifeless voice.
“Sounds more like penal servitude,” commented Gloria. “And what is to be the scene of your violent endeavors?”
“Ask the Government,” he replied wearily. “Washington, maybe. Or perhaps San Francisco or Savannah. Or right here in New York, for all I know.”
“Jerusalem and Madagascar
And North and South Amerikee,”