Part 21 (1/2)

At this psychological moment, Miss Pinkie Lexington emerged from the boudoir. She shrieked at the sight.

”Marky,” she cried. ”You here with Flossie?”

Flossie proudly drew Zinsheimer far from the possibility of contact with Miss Lexington, and proudly, almost haughtily, threw a defiant look at her rival.

”My _husband_, Mr. Zinsheimer,” she said.

Pinkie, with a scream, sank upon the big arm-chair and rocked herself to and fro. ”They are married,” she moaned. ”They are married.”

”This morning, dear,” smiled Flossie, coldly. ”Thanks so much for your congratulations.”

”Married,” repeated Pinkie, incredulously. ”Married.”

Zinsheimer advanced cautiously, and gave her several encouraging pats on the shoulder.

”There, now, don't take on so,” he said suavely. ”There's other fish in the sea, almost as good. It isn't half as bad as what they say in the papers about the play. Listen to this,” he added, unfolding a newspaper and reading: ”'A luridly ludicrous exhibition of maudlin mush,' Ach Gott, what you think of that? 'A misguided author loaded a thirteen-inch gun to the muzzle with idiotic words and reduced a large and long-suffering audience to a peppered wreck. As an author, he's a joke.

As a murderer, he has the punch.' What funny fellows those critics are.

Here's what he says about Miss Farnum: 'The star--who, by the way, could only be observed with the aid of a Lick telescope--was only a shooting star. She made one faint, fantastic fizzle, then dropped without even a hiss into the gloom of merciful oblivion. She was not even a meteor, and only an innate sense of delicacy prevents our calling her a devil-chaser.' No wonder the ladies love the _Sun_. Now, Pinkie, listen--here's what he says about _you_.”

”What?” shouted Pinkie. ”Does that man dare--”

”He does. Listen: 'Among the cast appeared Miss Pinkie Lexington, with a German accent on her Lex; a portly person of the oval type. She looked like a turnip and acted the part artistically. Had this succulent vegetable only burst from her scant foliage--but there, who roasts a turnip?'”

”Oh, if he were only here now, where I could get my mitts on him,”

shouted the frantic Pinkie, springing to her feet. ”Oh, let me go. I am stifling. Thank heaven, the air outside at least is pure.” And Pinkie stormed from the room.

Flossie gazed after the retreating form of her former chum.

”Good exit, that,” she observed. ”Pinkie really ought to go in for melodrama.”

Martha, who had heard enough of the commotion to realize what was going on, entered and congratulated both Flossie and Mr. Zinsheimer.

”Sorry you are leaving this place,” volunteered ”Marky.” ”Any--er--money troubles?”

”None whatever, thank you,” replied Martha. ”I am going to leave the stage and go back to my old home in Indiana.”

”Leave the stage?” gasped Flossie.

”If you ever need a.s.sistance, you know”--”Marky” coughed confidentially.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SHE LOOKED LIKE A TURNIP AND ACTED THE PART ARTISTICALLY.”]

”Thank you. Good-bye,” replied Martha, smiling.

”Marky,” pouted Flossie, ”I think we'd better be going. Come--you promised to buy me a lot of new things this morning. Hurry up, _angel_.”

”Angel?” repeated Zinsheimer. ”That's just what I would like to be, but she won't let me. All right, Flossie, I'm coming.”