Part 10 (2/2)
”Mr. Clayton has other things to do.”
”Then he must not blame me if I dine with some one else.”
”I refuse to let you go, Martha.”
”And how will you keep me, please?” demanded Martha, petulantly, not because she really desired to break her covenant with her self-appointed backer, but merely to see what steps he might take if she gave evidence of breaking her parole. ”Will you lock all the doors and keep me a prisoner?”
”Never mind,” replied Aunt Jane. ”Is this unknown admirer coming here to see you, or did you send him word to meet you on the street corner?”
”I sent him word to come here,” replied Martha, indignantly. ”I have no need to meet him elsewhere. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I REFUSE TO LET YOU GO MARTHA.”]
”Very well, then,” retorted Aunt Jane, going toward the library, as the back parlor was ambitiously named. ”I'll telephone Mr. Clayton and say I wash my hands of you. If he wants to keep an eye on you, he will have to do it himself after to-night. I'll send for him at once.”
”You'll send for him?” cried Martha, gladly.
”I'll telephone him to come as fast as a taxi can bring him,” declared Mrs. Anderson. ”I guess that will bring you to your senses.”
”I hope it does,” murmured Martha, softly, burying her face in the fragrant flowers. And to herself she added: ”I wonder if he'll come?”
”Come right in, Mr. Zinsheimer,” cried the shrill voice of Pinkie Lexington in the outer hall. ”I saw you clear across the street and hurried down the back way,” she continued, leading him into the parlor.
”Flossie has just gone out, but maybe, if you wait, she'll come back soon.”
”Well, I don't mind if I do,” declared Marcus Zinsheimer, shedding his great fur coat and peering curiously at Martha, who busied herself with her flowers by the piano. ”Who's that?” he added softly.
”That's Martha Farnum,” whispered Pinkie. ”She's at the Casino and that haughty--but I'm going to be friends with her.”
”As though two chorus girls could be friends,” interrupted the knowing ”Marky.”
”I'm _not_ a chorus girl,” corrected Pinkie. ”And anyhow, she has a very wealthy admirer who might star her, and if he does I'd like to be in her company. See?”
”Oho! That's the racket, eh?” laughed ”Marky.” ”You may be right. A ton of money, an ounce of sense, a pretty girl and a love-sick angel have made many a star in the theatrical firmament.”
”And while it lasts, I might just as well be in the push,” added Pinkie, wisely. ”Gawd knows I need the money.”
”Marky” surveyed Pinkie carefully.
”Why is it you are always so hard up, Pinkie?” he inquired. ”You ought to be able to get a good engagement, but I say, there ain't much style about the way you dress. What I like is style--real flashy style--lots of color and ginger.”
”I'm sorry I'm so poor,” sobbed Pinkie, plaintively. ”But I can't help it, Mr. Zinsheimer. You know the company stranded and I haven't had anything to do since. It's very kind of you to be so considerate, Mr.
Zinsheimer. Would you mind if I call you 'Feathers'? That's what I always call you to Flossie.”
”Well, if you call me 'Feathers,' I won't call you _down_,” replied ”Marky,” laughing laboriously at his own joke. ”But now I'll tell you what we'll do. Flossie's out and won't know anything about it, so let's you and me jump into a taxicab and go down to some of the shops. We can just make it before six o'clock, and I'll buy you a lot of fancy things.
Eh, what?”
<script>