“Yes; Dorothy Dulles.”
“I'm sorry. I don't think I ever heard of her.”
“What? Dorothy Dulles, the screen actress?”
“No, I can't place her.”
“But—but she's a star!”
“Well, but you know, Mr. Stebbins—there are so many stars in the heavens, and not all of them visible to the eye.”
I turned to Bertie's mamma. She had discovered that Carpenter looked even more thrilling on a close view; he was not a stage figure, but a really grave and impressive personality, exactly the thing to thrill the ladies of the Higher Arts Club at their monthly luncheon, and to reflect prestige upon his discoverer. So here she was, inviting the party to share her box at the theatre; and here was T-S explaining that it couldn't be done, he had got to see his French revolution pictures took, dey had five tousand men hired to make a mob. I noted that Mrs. Stebbins received the “advertising” figures on the production!
The upshot of it was that the great lady consented to forget her box at the theatre, and run out to the studios to see the mob scenes for the “The Tale of Two Cities.” T-S hadn't quite finished his dinner, but he waved his hand and said it was nuttin', he vouldn't keep Mrs. Stebbins vaitin'. He beckoned the waiter, and signed his magic name on the check, with a five-dollar bill on top for a tip. Mrs. Stebbins collected her family and floated to the door, and our party followed.
I expected another scene with the mob; but I found that the street had been swept clear of everything but policemen and chauffeurs. I knew that this must have meant rough work on the part of the authorities, but I said nothing, and hoped that Carpenter would not think of it. The Stebbins car drew up by the porte-cochere; and suddenly I discovered why the wife of the street-car magnate was known as a “social leader.” “Billy,” she said, “you come in our car, and bring Mr. Carpenter; I have something to talk to you about.” Just that easily, you see! She wanted something, so she asked for it!
I took Carpenter by the arm and put him in. Bertie drove, the chauffeur sitting in the seat beside him. “Beat you to it!” called Bertie, with his invincible arrogance, and waved his hand to the picture magnate as we rolled away.