The Salamander Part 22

"I don't have to tell you much, do I, kid?"

"Not much, Blainey."

"That was Sa.s.soon with you, eh?"

"Albert Edward himself, Blainey," she answered, with an accented note of pride. She knew the man she was dealing with. Brutal and contemptuous to innocence, but bowing down with a sneaking admiration to the woman who played the game and won out, not for a moment did he doubt that she was of the shrewdest and the most unprincipled. And this conviction stood like a shield before her in this room where other women had gone in with a shrug.

"Sa.s.soon, eh?" he said admiringly, and he gave vent to a long whistle.

"Well, trim 'em, kid, trim 'em!"

"That's what I'm doing, Blainey, and the finest!"

She took his accents, almost the contemptuous abruptness of his gestures, transforming herself into his world.

"When are you going to get tired of all that?" he said, his eyes narrowing covetously. "It's a short game. This is longer, safer."

"When? Pretty soon, Blainey."

"Why not now?"

She shook her head, laughing.

"Too soon--too soon!"

He reached over into a drawer and drew out a play.

"Do you see this? I'm keeping this for you!"

She opened her eyes.

"For me?"

"There's a fortune in it. There's a scene there"--he swore appreciatively--"it's all in a scene, a trick; but it's a winner. And I'm holding that for you, kid."

"Star me?" she said, laughing incredulously.

"In the third year--yes!"

"Come, now, Blainey, I'm no fool. I'm not that strong on acting!"

"Acting be d.a.m.ned. Personality!" he said, slapping the table. "You've got me--you can get them!"

"Have I got you, Blainey?" she said, looking at him boldly.

"You got me from the first with your impudent way," he said abruptly.

"I'm interested in you, kid--particularly interested! You understand what I mean?"

"It's not hard to understand you, T. B."

"I'll put you on Broadway in two years," he said. Then, bubbling over with enthusiasm, he took up the role again. "G.o.d! there's a scene here that'll get 'em--won't be a dry handkerchief in the house!" He continued, his face lighting up with sentiment, for scenes of virtue triumphant, virtue resisting, virtue rewarded, genuinely moved him--on the stage: "End of second act, the girl learns she's an intruder--not Lady Marjorie, heiress to millions, but a waif, subst.i.tuted, see? It's a lie, of course; all works out well in the last act; but you don't know that. She's got an exit there beats anything in _Camill_! Runs away, see? Leaves everything--jewels, clothes, money, nothing belongs to her.

"Proud--that's the idea; won't take a thing--nothing! Just as she's rushing out, sees a cat, a d.a.m.ned, bobtailed, battered old kitten she's picked off the streets, saved from a gang of ruffians in first act.

That's hers; in that great gorgeous palace--think of it--all that _is_ hers--all she's a right to. Runs back, grabs it, hugs it to her breast, and goes out! What a chance! There's millions in that cat! I saw it. The play was rotten, but the cat was there! That's the kind of stuff that gets over, chokes you up, blinds you! I know it--I'd risk a fortune on it!"

"Sounds good!" she said, nodding, amazed at this other side in him, not yet comprehending inconsistencies in human nature.

He was off in raptures again, insisting on reading the final pages. She listened without hearing, attracted and repulsed, turn about, by the man. When he had come to earth again, she said:

"Blainey, I'm going to send a girl around to you for that part you offered me."

"No, you're not! Work others," he said, with a snap. "Trim 'em, but don't work me! I don't go in for charity!"

"Who said anything about charity?" she answered, knowing the impracticability of such an appeal. "I'm sending you some one who can act--Winona Horning, and a beauty! She was going to take a part in one of Zeller's productions, and I told her to hold off until you saw her.

She's a friend, and I don't want her to lose time with Zeller!"

"You won't take it yourself?"

"Not now! Besides, when I get ready, you're going to place me in a good stock company first. Look out, Blainey," she added, laughing; "if I turn serious, it'll be frightful!"

He began, delighted, to sketch for her the course she should take, seeking to convince her of her talents, unfolding to her the methods he would employ. She kept her eyes on his, but she did not hear a word. The feeling of the place possessed her; she could not shake it off. She felt already caught.

In reality, her reckless a.s.sumption of this part was simply a trying out of herself, an attempt to project herself into the future, to explore with the eye where the feet must tread. Not that a career was within her serious intentions. She retreated from coa.r.s.eness, drawing her delicate skirts about her; yet it amused her thus to dramatize herself! So, while one Dodo was audaciously playing at acting, another Dodo was coldly placing questions before herself.

"Would it be possible? Could I ever? Would it be worth while? And Blainey--what would that mean?"

Then, as he turned in the glare from the window, she noticed his vest.

It was a brown upholstered vest with purple sofa b.u.t.tons. Her reverie centered on those b.u.t.tons, counting them, running them up and down; and a curious idea came to her. If by any chance she should go on with a career, she certainly would have to make him change that vest!

The idea of a manager, a manager devoted to her, wearing a brown upholstered vest with purple sofa b.u.t.tons, offended her horribly--more than other possibilities which did not stare her in the face. When she went off with Ma.s.singale, after the second act, for a hasty bite, he said to her:

"Why so solemn?"

She was still counting over that double line of purple sofa b.u.t.tons.

CHAPTER IX

They took their supper in a near-by oyster house, invaded by a chattering throng, drummed over by an indefatigable orchestra. She had looked forward keenly to the tete-a-tete. She was terribly disillusioned. It was not at all exciting. Conversation was impossible, and what they said was meaningless. She became irritable and restless, for she had a feeling that she was being defrauded--that this man was not like the rest, that he was one worth knowing, drawing out, an adversary who would compel her to utilize all the light volatile artillery of her audacious imagination.

"Listen," she broke out suddenly, "this is a horrible failure. I really want to talk to you! Have you seen enough of the rehearsal?"

"Plenty!"

"Let's cut it, then!"