Part 8 (2/2)
”Impudent!” replied Aunt Jane.
”An' say, lady, I got a note also for Miss--Miss Farnum.”
”Give it to me, then, you young rascal.”
”Nixey.” The boy shook his head and winked again. ”Told me to give it to Miss Farnum 'erself.”
”But I can give it to her.”
”Maybe my eye's green, too,” answered the messenger. ”De gent who give me dis said give it only to her. If she ain't in, I got to come back when she is.”
”Miss Farnum is not in,” declared Aunt Jane, indignantly. ”And you're a rude, disrespectful boy, to speak so to your elders.”
”Well, say, when will her nibs get back?”
”In about half an hour,” retorted Aunt Jane, slamming the door on him and taking the box into the parlor. Once there, she peered curiously at the box. It was only an ordinary florist's box, but a big one, and it evidently contained costly, long-stemmed American Beauties. There was a small note attached to the box, with the name ”Martha Farnum” on the envelope.
Mrs. Anderson debated about five seconds whether or not it was her duty to examine the note. Of course she had no right to look, but she concluded that her position as Martha's temporary guardian demanded that she examine carefully anything that would throw light upon the person who was sending so many flowers to her young charge.
”There's a card inside, sure, and perhaps a name,” she argued, with easy sophistry. ”It's my duty to look. Some young spark is trying to make love to Martha under my very nose.”
She nervously tore off the envelope, opened it and took out a card. She read it and threw up her hands in disappointment. The card was blank, except for the written words: ”From your unknown admirer.”
”h.e.l.lo! Blooms! For me?” cried Flossie Forsythe, resplendent in furs and a large picture-hat, bursting into the room just as Mrs. Anderson replaced the card. ”Pinkie, look at the flowers some one sent me,” she added, turning to summon the sad-eyed Miss Lexington, who still appeared dejected and deserted as she stood in the doorway, last season's walking-suit hanging unevenly from her highly developed figure and appearing a trifle tight in certain spots.
”I suppose Marky sent them,” said Pinkie, dropping upon the sofa in disgust. ”I wish some guy would slip me a beef-steak over the footlights some time instead of flowers.”
Mrs. Anderson politely but firmly rescued the flowers from Flossie's clutches.
”For Miss Farnum,” she said coldly, taking the box to the piano out of harm's way.
”What rot,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Flossie. ”I never seen a girl get so many flowers.”
Pinkie sighed. ”I haven't had an orchid this season,” she said sadly.
”Never mind, dear,” cried Flossie, sinking onto the sofa by her side.
”Wait until the new show goes on, and we both make hits. You'll be covered with flowers.”
”It will take some flowers to cover me,” responded Pinkie, surveying her ample girth with regret. ”But what gets me, is how Martha Farnum wins out with the b.o.o.bs who send her flowers. Why, she ain't got no style.
And she's only a beginner in the chorus, too.”
”But they do say she's made the biggest hit ever known in the Casino since I left last spring,” drawled Flossie, carelessly.
”Pity you didn't stay, dear,” smiled Pinkie. ”But then, of course, you weren't in the chorus.”
”I should say not,” cried Flossie, indignantly. ”I haven't been in any chorus for two years. It's s.e.xtettes or nothing with me hereafter, and you know I don't have to work.”
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