Evening Star Newspaper, October 28, 1923, Page 66

ERTINE MALLORY sat up in bed and giggled. From the cot on the farther side of the room a cross contralto volce inquired: “What's the merry jest?” *“Look at the clock.” A tousled, dark head lifted from the pillow. “What about it?" “It's noon. “Who cares?” “I do. You do. We've got break- fast beat. So much to the good.” “Lunch? queried the brunette with pessimistic intonation. Bertine giggled again. When Ber- tine Mallory giggled, you wanted to kiss her. “I used to have a stomach,” she chuckled. “All gone. This Chi- cago air did it. As a banting diet it can't be beat.” “Yes; when you're thin you look like a little red-and-gold angel. But I'm getting scrawny. How'm I going to rehearse today with nothing la- side me but a yearn?' moaned Mil- dred, the fellow sufferer. “Bertle, the show’s a flop. It'll be lucky If it lasts out the wee! *Where does that leave us? “Looking for another job.” “It's a punk season, and we haven’t got the clothes to make a front be- fore a manager.” “Between us Wwe have” Bertine pointed out. “You can take the rig out for the alr one day, and I the next.” “The black satin's pretty snappy still,” mused Mildred. “With nice, fresh linen at the neck and the wrists and the little old algrette dancing on top of the hat, we can still throw a bluff. But outside of that—" “Ginghams. Br-rr-rr-rr!” shivered Bertine. She glanced at the door of an inner room. “What about Ethel?” “Trailing a job, 1 think. Of course, she won't hoodoo her chances by say- Ing until she's landed it. What time did she got in last night?” “About 3, T guess. She tried to tell me something, but I was too dead to the world.” 'm going to dress and go down for the mall. I've a feeling there's something lucky for us,” prophesied Mildred. “Think somebody's written us a box of sardines?’ Inquired Bertine hope- fully. “That'd be the most important mail T can think of. What's the mat- my silk petticoat?” Bertine began to rummage about. “Where are my brown stockini . ‘What's become of my tan sho ; one palr of gasoline- ; Bertle strode over to the decrepit wardrobe. “Our aigrette’s gone,” she announced. Mildred threw open the door of the inner room. §“So's Ethel.” “She sure must be on the trail of something good or she wouldn't be etulking it this early. That's what she was trying to tell me last nigh “Weil, we've got to dress, anywa: sald Mildred philosophically. “Come on; let's snap into the good old ging- ‘hams."” * ® Kk ¥ ¥N the midst of the process the door opened and the third mem- Ler of the stranded trio revealed her- solf, posing magnificently on the threshold in a symposium of their collective most available garments. The two despoiled ones lifted a sing! voice: You certainly do look like & million dollars.” “First up best dressed,” pronounced the newcomer jauntily. “Girls, “T've landed.” “No! What's the part?” “How much in t?" “Not so bad for a bum season. Sev- enty-five per. It's a last-minute fill-in. Got in on the clothes and the Lluff. That's the way to land a job in bad times, my infants. How much have you got on hand?” “The treasurer reports two dol- lars and forty-nine cents.” “And the ghost walks Saturday?”’ “Maybe." “Well, you've got to make it go. I'll send back some_out of the first wad 1 lay my claws on. No advance yet except my ticket to Peoria for Sun- @ay night. “Couldn’t you hock it for a mess of frankfurters and catch a ride on a truck?” suggested Bertine. “It you're looking for easy feed, Manderson's been Inquiring for Milly and you." *“Manderson? lawyer?” *1 suppose he is about as crooked they make 'em,” conceded Hthel. “And I wouldn't be seen dead with him, myself, on Broadway,” Bertine averred. “But in Chicago—who cares?” “They say he's a bear with a menu card,” murmured Mildred. “I'm not that hungry,” Bertine. “Tad Wilbu's In town, too,” pur- sued Ethel, looking at Bertin: “You've been seeing 'em all, haven's you?’ observed the girl with rather too obvious carelessne “Quite & few. He wal where he could find yo “You didn't tell him! “No. But why pass up any possible meal tickets?” protested Mildred, “Tad Wilbur isn't a meal ticket.” don't bite me.” you're wrong,” added ‘He is. That is, he can 1t he wants to. He's hit It with his invisible telephonic invention. The Kaplans have put it in all their New York houses, and he's out here place ing it” “That's fine” Bertine Mallory's expressive face brightened, bfit only for a moment. “I always thought It ‘was a filv,” she added dully. said Ethel. Oh, here's your That crooked shyster snapped lunch date. “Aren't you going to shed any of our clothes?” demanded Mildred. “Now, how can 1?" argued Ethel reasonably. “I'm feeding on the management, and I've got to Jive up to the new job.” “Of course you have" assentéd Bertine. “You're our one best bet. Take what you want, and good’ luck.” Turning to Mildred as Ethel went, she asked: ‘Anything to eat in your mail? “T'll say there is. Tommy Wright's giving a big supper jass tonight, and ‘we're both in on it” *Halleloo-l0oo! Tommy's a liberal provider.” : “And the! Blanche Hall morrow. “That's nice. Everybody'll be there, and we may sanitch a job out of it.” couple of meats for special matinee to- “What's yours?” inquired ¥Ilflrefl,' glancing at the letter In her friend's band. “Oh, nothing. Forwarded note from Tad Wilbur saying he was coming to Chicago." “You're going to see him, aren't you?* “No,” said Bertine listlessly. “You used to run around with him a lot in New York,™ “Not a great deal. I thought I was a little too Ritsy for Ta That was before the jinx hit me “Bertle, you don't really believe in jinxes and hoodoos and all that.” “Don’t I! 1 belleve in this one. I keep 1t with m “Whatever for? Let's see it.” * ko % '‘ROM the depths of her purse Bertine fished a much-folded, worn square of blue writing paper. Her friend read with anonuhmaml this typed message: don't recall the girl's name, and I wouldnt even know her face without that awful make-up, but for the luvva Mike, chase her. The management sure pulled a fope, as we used to say in French B, when they cast her for the slavey's part. Otherwise you've got a big hit. Con- grats. Thine ever, ‘What's it all about?" Mildred. ‘Collars and Cufts’ I played the fresh servant girl until this thing razzed me out of the part. Haven't had a decent job since.” ‘But how dld you get It ‘Some smarty friend of Sid Rankine, who wrote the play, sent it to him. Wanted the part herself, very likely. Sid passed it on to the manager, and he passed it on to me with & fresh grin and my notice. He didn't like me, anyway, because— well, just one of those becauses. Mildred nodded her comprehension. Vere you good in the part?” “I was rotten,” giggled Bertine, “but I could have worked into it.” Mildred referred ain to. the ““Wha a fope? 's part of the jinx. I'm keeping it till I find out. Something French, though it's no word I ever came across.” “Throw the thing away,” implored the other. “I'm going to hang on to it" averred Bertine decisively, “until I meet the perfect lady that wrote it And then I'm going to make her eat it she declared with ferocity. ‘That'll chase the jinx.” ‘How do you know it's a her?" “By the catty sound of it. What are we going to wear tonight?" ‘Looks like ginghams.” “What do you think Tommy is pulling? A fancy-dress party? No, ma'am! When you go to the theater, you brace Mrs. Westfall for the blue satin and the hat that you wear in the last act. You'll be a knockout.” “What about you?* ‘Keep your eye on the good old black satin.” She exhumed that gar- ment from the wardrobe and began to rip out the sleeves with deft fingers. “How to turn afternoon into evening,” she remarked, performing some manipulations in the reglon of the neck. “Turned Inside out and fussed up with some trimming: this'll—er—create & marked impres- sion as one of the new crepes that have just hit New York this season.” ‘You're a marvel, Bertle. But you can’t wear a straw hat with that outfit.” 'an’ She dived into a drawer and emerged with another specimen of black satin, which she proceeded to adjust over the straw. “With a bit of ruffie, which your new chemise I8 going to lend me by request, and the aigrette, if Kthel ever comes back with it—ah, well- aday! You get that blue satin if you want to keep up with the parade.” * % % x ‘VHILE AMildred was at the theater Bertine completed the transfor- mation. Then, with the creation daintily lald out on the bed, the two girls made & careful investment in enough food to carry them through the performarce. That evening set- tled any hopefwl uncertainty. The show was a sure flop. “Who cares!” giggled Bertine as they hurried back to the hotel for her outfit. . “You're a dream in that steely blue, Mil. Maybe you'll hit some manager & bang in the eye with 1t ‘Not If he sees you first in the black-and-white effect.” “I gu between us we'll make some of ‘em blink,"” began Bertine as she opened the door and stopped dead. The two girls stared at each other in awful silence. The bed was empty. The converted black satin, with all that pertal to it, was gone. Its owner recovered first. she observed. “Well, first up, best dressed. ‘Here’ & note” sald Mildred. ¥ ‘Gone out to dinner; leave the door unlatched She began to Whimper. ““The mean, sneaky—"" ‘Cut it, Mll. We ‘told her to dress the part. Sh done it. Well, ging- ham for m Mildred began divesting herself of her gorgeous blye raiment. “Ging- ham for me,” she echoed. ‘If you go that way, I'll go that way.” Bertine began to laugh. pretend we did it for a josh. Half an hour later two shivering but radiant girls were doubtfully admitted to the gorgeous apartment hotel in which Mr. Thomas Wright maintained two whole floors. “Buck up, gir}!" whispered Bertine toutly in her shaky companion’ 1 think I smell sausage. Come In and kiss your host, but don't take a drink until—" Y¥Look!” sald Mildred in a scalded whisper. Down the hallway swept Ethel radiant and queenly in the turned satin and transmuted hat, with the aigrette giving it the crown of glory, The two ginghams heard her say placidly in reply to some compliment of her host upon whose arm she leaned: “Oh, yes! I just in from Paris. The lai thing. * Mildred uttered & snort of sup- pressed fury: “I'm going hom “Wait In the dressing room,” satd the valiant Bertl “I'll sneak something In to you. Bertine straightened her graceful demanded i “We'll THE SUNDAY BTAR, WASHINGTON, D. ©C., OCTOB FIRST UP BEST DRESSED gonscientiously neat youth of New York days, with his thin, eager face, but a secure, assured looking Tad in manifestly expensive clothes. Ber- tine turned and fled after the recreant Mildred. “Let's go,” she giggled. They went. * ok % K §6N\JO charity,” intoned the impress- ive gentleman addressing the restive matinee audience between the is more worthy of your gener- ous support than this fund to pro- vide overcoats for the needy. As I think of those little boys and girls cringing and shivering in the bitter blast outside, and then look over this comfortable, happy, warmly clad sathering— Here the speaker stopped. ~There seemed to be some sort of confusion B0.ng on In & rear row. Miss Bertine Mallory rose In her place, dragging her companion with her. “Get up,” she commanded. v YWhat for?" protested the strug- gling Mildred. “To show him how comfortable, TAD WILBUR, POCKETING HIS OWN PRIDE, WALKED OVER ’l;?EBSEAZ?TlNE. “MAY I SPEAK WITH YOU FOR A \ . ly clad we are.” gig- “Maybe they'll glve us happy and wa: gled Bertine. an overcoat.” The amateur solicitor'on the stage recovered. “Two volunteer contributors al- ready,” he announced with pleased suavity. I thank you, young ladies. Collectors will be around at the close of my few remarks.” “Now you've done ft!" whispered Mildred savagely as she dragged her friend back into her s “What are we going to do? “Contribute.” Bertine could com- mand the grand manner on occasion. “Out of our dollar seventy-five?" queried the appalled Mildred. ¥Seventy-three. I had to put a stamp on that letter asking for a job in that road company. We'll give the dollar. Maybe it'll bring us luck.” “Give 'em that blue paper jinx with it ". snorted Mildred as Bertine opened her purse. “That's the only way you'll ever get your luck back.” When the collector arrived, Ber- tine let the bill flutter gracefully down from her finger tips as she smiled at the half-mesmerized youth. “I want to get out of here,” she muttered. “All right,” Bertine agreed. guess I was & boob." They were at the door when a com- pact figure interposed itself between Miss Mallory and further retreat. 'ad!” she said in a volce not too well guarded. “Bertle! This is luck. I liked your little stunt, though I don’t know what it meant.” “Neither do I. You know Mildred ade, don't you? Tad Wilbur acknowledged the intro- duction, but all his eyes were for the other. “You're thin, saren't you, Bertie? ‘“Been banting. “It's becoming. I never saw you look =0 like looking at,” he chuckled. “Don't mind if I look at you a littl while, do you' ‘“The eurtain's going up,” murmured Bertle. “Come outside, then. show?” “A complete flop. 1 Closing tomor- o . ‘Well, 1 want to hear all about pou. Take dinner with me?" Bertine thought of the gingham. It she went to dinner with him in that rig she was sure that he would sense, though he might not define, its incon- Sruousness. As she thought how sorely she wanted that dinner and how good it seemed to Tad Wilbur again, a {at, throbby lump rose in her throat. Therefore, and naturally, she glggled. “Got an engagempnt.” “Oh! How dbout supper. after the show?" 3 ‘Worse. 8he almost said it aloud. No, it _simply couldn’t be done; not in that dress. In the act of summoning her resolu- tion to decline she thought of the black satin. If she atarted In upon it at once and worked till theater time it could be recbnstituted to its original character. “All right,” she sald, then -a qualm shook her. Mildred! _Couldn't she be rung in on the eats? ' “Though I usually 80 right home after the show with my ropmmate,” she added jngenuously, in- dicating - Mildred, who had "‘tactfally ‘withdrawn, ’ E “T'll got you honte safe if not early, shoulders and advanced upon her for- | B lorn hope. Then across the pulsing sea of humanity she caught sight of one face too well remembered. Tad ‘Wilbur was coming toward her, not yet, however, having sighted her. It was a new, Tad, got the shabby but e Ew & et Bm.ld-nnlumcrwrk over overworked “satin. In the of the process How's your] looked up and surprised a little wistful quiver at the ecorner of her' friend's mouth. “I won't do it she cried, jab- bing her needle flercely into the cot on which they sat.. ‘“Won't do what?" asked Mildred. ““Won't go and eat with him, the pig. Why couldn't he ask you?" “Don’t be an It. You can snitch out a roll or something for me."” “You take the wad, then, and get yourself a decent dinner,” prescribed Bertine, handing over the 73 cents. “I'll take it, but I won't spend it. They say the ghost lsn't going to walk till Monday.” “‘Ouch! My poor appetite!” Bertine reflected. “Got an idea,” she announced. “You just stroll into the Colonnade lobby about midnight to meet some- body— “‘Somebody? Who?" “How do 1 know who? that fails to keep the date. the rest to me.” To secure a table within easy and obvious sight of the door called for some maneuvering, but Bertine man- Somebody And leave aged it. As they sat down he said with enthusiasm: “You_certainly look stunning in that rig, Bertle."” Shamelessly pagarizing from Ethel, she replied: “Not so dusty, is it! Just over from Paris.” ’ ““You'd be the exact type a friend of mine needs in his new play.” ““Who's that?" idney Rankine.” Bertine wrinkled her pretty “nose. “My fingers are crossed. 1 was in one Our styles of art you'd be a whizs Propriety in this new thing, and tha the very costume for it. When are you coming back to New York?" h, I don't know,” sald Bertine airlly. “Chicago suits me pretty well. “New York doesn't suit me very well with you in Chicago. I miss you." ‘“Yes?" queried Bertine faintly. “It's certainly a poor sort of town, that Bertieless New York,” he pursued. ‘That time, you remember, that I took you home after the late supper and— and kissed you In the hallway—' “Which time?’ asked Bertine ab- sently, her attention seduced by the fragrance of two thick and luscious English chops which had just passed within range of her eager nose. ““Oh, the hundred and fiftieth or so,” he laughed. Bertine came to herself. ““Tad,” she mumured, ‘you never kissed me but twice in your life. “Well, that isn't my fault, is it?" “And those didn't mean anything. To either of us.” “Oh, didn't they! They meant so much to me that—what's the matter, Bertle?" For she had half risen from her seat. ““Why, 1 do belleve that's Mildred!" she exclaimed in well simulated sur- prise, Tad was visibly annoyed at the in- terruption. ‘“Well, she seems to be well taken care of,” he observed. “Why, she's with some one, fisn't she?” added Bertine, and this time her surprise was genuine. Also her grati- fication, “‘She’s with some one, all right,” said Tad, and his expression was not pleas- ant. “Or all wrong. It's Jesse Man- derson, “What If It 187" returnéd Bertine. “Well, you know what they say of sirls who play around with Manderson and that bunch. Bertie, dear, did you say you were lving with this Slade (1 “I am. And you needn’t call her ‘this Slade girl’ either. She's just as good a girlas Iam.” “Then what's she doing with Man- derson?" Bertine began to giggle. The linger- ing whift of those chops was makifig her light-headed. “Eating, I hope. A girl's got to eat or starve. “Bertie!” He leaned over to her with -n-n-no,” she giggied desperately. “You are! TYour lips are white and you;n ‘shaking. Why didn't you, tell me?* %ouldn’t you see?” “Because I'm fifty-seven piokled varleties of a fool. Kiddle, darling— | “D-d-d-don't.” 3 “‘All right, I won’t. Not now.” Out of the goodness of & gentle heart Tad ‘Wilbur made & hard renunciation. “You trot right out and bring Miss Slade in here to supper—I mean din- ner—with wa® i “Tad, you are an awful dear.” She gave him a glance warmer than mere gratitude. “Sure you don’t mind?” .“Of course I mind. But that's all she sald softly. poor Mil—-' ‘ “I know. I sure pulled a fope when 1 didan't notice—" “You—did—what?" “Pulled a fope. It's an old quirk we used to use in French. i “And Sid Rankine knows it?" “Why, yei ‘What's wrong, Bertie?” The girl's 1ips were white, but her eyes burned into his like two flerce rays of flame. “I'd rather take poison than touch food with you.” ® “What on earth!" began the a#- tounded Wilbur. “Why, it doesn mean anything wrong. You've: “I hate you. I never want to see you nor speak to you again.” “Why, Bertie—dear—Ilisten—" She rose and walked out of the door, across the lobby, forgetful of everything. Some one tapped her on the shoulder. “Lo-lo, little ome. “But How about a touch of supper for the appetite?” ‘What?" sald Bertine dully. “Supper. Eats. What could you do, If roused, to a sandwich and a dab of salad? Your side runner is over there with my friend Morrle Streamer. you say we have a little party, us four?” * % ok % ERTINE sald yes. There was hardly anything Involving food to which she would not have sald yes just then. And she was savagely Pleased when they were led to a table next to that at which sat Ted Wilbur, glooming distractedly. “What nice 111 thing’ll we try our faise teeth on now?” asked Mander- son hospitably. “Some telery and a hodful of salad and maybe—" 'Steal pronounced Bertine firmi, 'With onlons,” amended Mildred. "Some soup first, don't you think?” This from Bertine. 0. Oysters, then the soup.” “Of course. D' you think—cauli- flower and potatoes with the steak?" anxiously Inquired Bertine of her friend. “Or Brussels sprouts and string beans?”’ “Why trouble to pick?" returned ' Mildred. “Let's have 'em all in and look ‘em over.” “And 1 like my cheese with the salad. Though it naturally depends dessert we have.” far as you like, chuckled Mr. Mayderson. From his table Wilbur watched the proceedings with bewilderment. He heard Streamer intimating that a fat part in one of his several musical shows would be awalting Miss Mal- lory as soon as she got back to New York. Presently he was reading her character from her hand: “Them opals on the nails,” sald he, “they stand for pride. Pride,” he added reflectively, “that don't get you noth- tng.” Tad Wilbur, pocketing his own pride, walked over to’ Bertine. “May 1 speak to you for a moment in the lobby?" he sald. Bertine half lifted her eyes. think you're pulling & fop drawled. 3 “Just for a moment—" he urged. Manderson rose from his seat. “Say, what's the idea?' he began bel- ligerently. “I wasn't gpesking to you, Tad. “No,” assented Manderson briskly. “No, but you're buttin' in on my party.” He turndd to Bertine: “Do you know this guy?” “No,” said Bertine, and giggled. “I beg your pardon,” said Tad, and proceeded to the door with what would have been impressive dignity had it not been for the waiter's in- tercepting him with the unpaid check, thereby totally ruining his exit., Bertine ate consclentiously, so con- sclentiously that the next day she had 4 stomachache to go with her heart- ache. By Sunday the first had worn off, but the second hadn't. On Mon- day the ghost walked for the last time. girlles,” “T she sald LR MEGNGE of air had improved ither the black satin nor the fortunes of its wearer. On Broadway it looked decidedly less Iimpressive than it had on the Loop. To be sure, it was nearly two months oider. Ber- tine wondered when she would begin to show similar evidences of wear As she in her room, You know Morrie. Whadda ' ER 28, 1923—PART 5, running an electric iron over the re- lisble gingham dress, her door was thrown open, close after a resound- ing knock, rovealing a radiant vision. “Ethel!" cried Bertine, and clinched. “Well, here I am,” returned her former roommate, returning her hug. “Got a double bea? “Double enough. show?” “Went floppity-fiooey in Providence, R. L “You look like a million cash. Haven't married, have you?” “‘Not’ ls the answer. I'm broke.” ame here,” giggled Bertfe. But whence the swell raiment?” The other removed & sumptuous white fox neckplece and a smart coat and threw herself into & chair. “You know how I am about clothes, Bert,” sald she deprecatingly. “The shop windows reach right out and reel me in. From the heart out I'm sure dressed up, but it took the wad. They're all paid for, though." Bertine petted the fox. “You can always raise something. on this e N £ Where's the MOMENT IN THE LOBBY?" beauty,” she murmured. “I expect to—a job. It's the front that lands you in this game. Did you try Morris Streamer?" “What do you know about Morris Streamer?” “Mildred told me. Said he went nuts over you in Chicago and told You to come to him when you wanted & part.” “Well, maybe I went at it wron confessed Bertine. “I ought to have tried the bluff game. Instead of that, I crawled into my little gingham and trotted myself around to Streamer's office. He sat there with his feet on the desk and his hat on the back of his head and a fat cigar in the side of his fat face, and didn’'t move any of 'em when I came In." “What do you expect of a Broad- way manager wWhen you need a job and show it?" returned Ethel. “What do I expect?’ sneered Ber- tine. “When 1 spoke to him, he called me ‘little one' and asked what he could do for me. I sald ‘Nothing, I thank you,’ in a voice and paraded out.” “You're a simp, Bert. But I king of like you for it. What's next?" “Next is living in unbridled luxury on three dollers and forty-six cents until I can land a part.” “There's one waiting for you.” “Leave me rush into its arrums, pleaded Bertine dramatically. “It's In Sid Rankin's new play. Bertine flushed. “I don’t want it,” @aid she uncertainly. “Come off it, kid. Are you nursing *hat jinx yet?” “Yes, T am. “Well, I don't belicve that this chance came through Tad Wilbur at asserted Ethel diplomatically. “I heard about it on the train coming down. Have you seen Tad since you “Well, Tad's riding the top wav. mused Ethel. “But they say he's got 2 grouch that you can't see past. 2 glance at the other's pura you take my advice and leave that little blue square of hate stuff at home when you go after this job. You'll only jinx yourself with it. And T'll bet you're just carrying it because you're afrald that you'll forget to hate the boy, anyway. Bertine reddened furiouasly. not!” “You go out and “I'm the beautiful white fox longingly. “Bthel, what time are you going to get up tomorrow? ‘First up best dressed, eh, kid? laugHed the othe: She flu: the gleaming coll of whiteness around Bertine's neck. “It'll be a knockout with the black dress and hat. Put ‘em on. The process being achieved and the eftact noted, Ethel delivered her ver- “Great! Grand duchess stuft u stand out for & hundred and persisted Ethel, thought like Bert! Marian Denbigh would lend me der car for the morning ™ “That would .be the ocentipede's spatal ~ It's worth & pickel in the phone to find out.” i It proved to be ail of ‘that. A quiet A Diverting Tale of the Stage. BY SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS. plloted by”'a liveried chauffeur, crept to the curb In front of the offices of Shanklin & Sproul, theatrical man- agers, and deferentially discharged a languld princess. When Miss Mallory was announced it chanced that Mr. Morris Streamer was in the office of Shanklin & Sproul. The managers, on the point of offer- ing $50 a week, sustained a shock when Miss Mallory swept regally in. Shanklin, setting out a chair for her, presented his partner, remarking: “You know Mr. Streamer already, I belfeve.” “No, I think not,” she murmured. “Accourse you do, Miss Mallory,” protested the Impressed Streamer. “Dontcha remember—'" “Oh,” returned the girl, “I didn’t recognize you with your hat off. How d'you do?’ This last with an effect of extremp languor. Sproul took no pains to stifie a chuckle ss Mr. Streamer took his departure. ' : “Now we'll talk terms,” said Bhank- lin. “We're prepared to offer $50 for the part of propriety.”. “Couldn’t think of it,” sald Bertine promptly. “Consider the opportunit; Sproul. “On Broadway——' “Consider the cost of living," re- torted Bertine, petting the whité fox. “Well, we might go to sixty,” said Shanklin dublously. rtine yawned. “Really it wouldn't be worth my while.” “Now, Mallory " “Possibly I might consider a hun- dred and twenty-five if nothing bet- ter turns up in the next few days. The partners l1ooked at each otMer. The part was an important one; the girl exactly the right type. But to pay a mewcomer what the part was actually worth! > They retired for private confer- ence. At Its close the senior partner announced the decision. “Seventy-five is the limit of our possibility. And we really ought to consult Mr. Rankine about that.” Bertine began to giggle. ‘“Jinxed again,” she thought desperately. Aloud she sald between snickers: “I'm afraid you can’'t make it worth my while.” Then, recovering herself and her tone: “Can I set you down some- ‘where, Mr. Sproul? I've my car here.” “Thank you,” answered Sproul after & little hesitation, “I was going down to the Manhattan “The Manhattan, Albert,” she di- rected the impeccable chauffeur when thiey had reached the sidewalk. “Yew, Miss Mallory,” returned Al- bert in the perfect manner. On the way down BSproul showed that he was thinking with concentra- tion. Out of his Intellectual efforts came his first remark not connected with the weather as the car turned into 43rd street: “Let's go back.” * ok % X% ALF an hour: later the contract was signed and Bertine was sent up to see Mr, Rankine in his office. The young playwright regarded her with twinkling eyes. “I understand from an old friend that you're made to order for the part,” sald h “You must think so, too, from the way you've held us up. “Back pa: giggled Bertine. “You owed me that. “Did 1?7 For what?’ “Balm to wounded feelings.” She opened her purse and displayed the blue paper square. Rankine regarded {1t uncomprehendingly. “What's that?" “That's a hate. hate.” Rankine shook his d. “Tear it up. Il do you ‘no good.” “So my frineds tell me. Do you be- lieve in hoodoos and jinxes and things, too?" “I belleve you can't carry a hate round in your pocket or your so and do your best work” He wi serious now. “It'll get into your sacting. It fsn't fair to your part. Try it on my scrap basket” He pushed that repository enticingly forward. Bertine reflected rapidly. “All right,” she assented, “I will if you'll solve its mystery for me."” ‘Mystery?" “This was originally part of a let- ter to you.” She held out the paper to him. ““Oh, 1 remember now,” sald he, after scanning It. ‘ou played the Shifty Kid in ‘Collars and Cuffs’ You were pretty bad, you know.” “I expect I was. But what's a fope?” “A fope? Oh, that's your mystery, s 1t?" He smiled. “It's a short for faux pas. One of my classmates in the French B course got rattled one day over ‘some fool mistake and apologized to the professor by say- ing: ‘Sorry, professor. I sure did pull & fope that tim ‘We adopted it as a kiné of class slang. But what have you been carrying it for all this time?" “Some day when I was famous I thodght I'd give it back to the brute that wrote It and ask him what he thought of himself for losing a poor girl's job that she needed.” “You can't do that.” ‘Why not?" )" urged what is your figure, Miss A long-cherished ead!” ied last week. Operation.” Bertine began to giggle. And the big, hot tears ran down her cheeks, to her lips. .The amased laid a kindly hand on her shoulder: “What's the matter. with child!. One moment she's hating & man like poison, and the next—-" “] d—d—dldn’'t want him to d—a— sobbed Bertine. “Oh, Tad!" “What's that? Tad Tad Wil- bur? “And he got me this job, too,” wailed Bertine, unheeding. Rankine whistled. Then he grinned. Now, you sit right’ there and cry it out,” said he comfortingly. “T'll be back in & few minuts LI N his retura he found the girl still huddled wretchedly over the basket. “Want to wash your face?” uggested. 0. I want to g0 ho—home."” “Take a few minutes to get your- self together,” Rankine . counseled. outside were followed by & knock. “Come in,” he invited. Tad Wilbur entered.! siar u_ sent—-" T Bertine stood up, her hands [outstretched, sigsling. desperately. “j—J—thought you were dead” - She began Yo scramble among the of paper playright “What's up, fragments in the wasteb: “Lo L asket, 3 I've just torn it up.” oS “Means nothing to me,” retortea Wilbur, staring at the blue seraps with hostile eyes. “It ought to. You cost me 1 . my fob in ‘Collars and Cuffe’ with 10" e “Yes, you.” “Never even saw— “Don’t you dare deny fer™ eried Bertine. “You wrote Mr. Rankine and sald the management pulled fope when it hired me: and that night in Chicago, when you spoke of pull. Ing & fope, I knew it was you that had written the note.” “YowTe a grand little detective, Miss Mallory,” put n Rankine, “But it happens that you reasoned wrong. this time. The poor chap who wrots that—Theo Eckstrom—was another of our class slangsters. So the fope is all your own on this auspicious occasion.” “Oh, oh, oh!” giggled Bertine She lited beseeching, tear-filled eyes to Wilbur. v “And T was going to be awtully n-n-noble and forgive you.” £ there's any forgivin, here,” sald Tad firmly, forgiver.” “Well, do it,” pleaded Bertine. “Don't mind me, children,” Rankine, half inside his desk. immersed in worl * x ok % € HAT time did you get in last night?” demanded Ethel from her pillow. “‘Oh, I don't know. “Get the job?" No. Yes. Oh, yes; of course I did.” Ethel stared. “What's the matter with the child? At one twenty-five?” “At one twenty-five.” “Score one for the glad rags. What did I tell you about the value of a front? Did you shake the jinx?’ “It's in a million pleces.” “That's the kid! What time is it now?" “Elght-fifteen.” “For Heaven's sake! idea?" “Got an important engagement.” “It must be important.” Ethel sat up sharply. “Are those my stockings you're putting on?” “First up best dressed” giggled Bertine. “What have you got my silk bathe robe folded for?" “First up best—* “And see here, kid. I might want to use that suit case myself.” “First up be—"" “Oh, cut it!" Ethel leaped nimbly out of bed, and pulled open the bot- tom drawer of the dresser. “Bertine Mallory, have you taken my—" “First up—" “And the white fox.” about wildly but vainly. to be done "Il be the said Three, T guess.” ‘What's the 8he looked Where do you think you're going? “Away." giggled Bertine. “Where? For how long?" “Over Sunday.” “With all my best rig? to show me.” “I will. Who originally sprung this first-up-best-dressed gag?™ challenged Bertine. “That's all right, but there's such a thing as carrying a joke too far.” “There’s where you pull a fope” re- turned Bertine loftily. “This trip is demanded Ethel with dawn- uspicions, “what kind of a trip is this, anyway?" “Wedding,” giggled Bertine. (Copyright, 1923.) Oil From the Sea. N southern California there has been devised a method of pumping ofl out of the sea. At Summerland, a small place on the coast between Ventura and Santa Barbara, there are reported to be more than 100 ofl derricks in the ocean. They extend from the shore a distance of several hundred yards and 1Mt oil from a depth of 1,600 feet below the ocean's bed. The ol strike in the ocean at Sum- merland was made as a result of ofl seepages along the shore. The ofl worked up through the sand and trickled down to the water's edge. Oil prospectors thought it would be wiser to drill through the loose sand of the ocean's bed than to drill through rock formation along the shore, 80 they put down several wells and succeeded in striking ofl. The derrick pumps hotst the oil into pipes and send it to tanks on the hiflside near the shore. In Los Angeles there are many oil wells in operation. There are as many as three oil derricks in one back yard In some places there. Some years ago the city council compelled the property owners to shut down these oil wells, as persons residing in the neighborhood held that they were & nuisance and so tended to de- Ppreciate property value: During the war, however, when there was such a demand for fuel oil with which to keep our many indus- tries at full capacity, the city grant- ed permission to reopen and pump these long-sealed oil wells in the res- idence district, and during the time they were belng operated it is sald that many of the wells ylelded from $10 to $20 worth of oll each day. Of late there has been a recrudescence of the oil Industry in that district, and it is now held to be a most im- portant center of the busine: You've got QGauging Streams. NNE of the diffioult problems in civil engineering is to gauge the ms accurately. The aiffi- from the fact that the ‘water travels faster at the surface than at the bottom or near the banks. making it hard to determine the av- erage rate of flow. An interesting method of gauging streams by chem- foal means has b devised, which consists, briefly, in adding a certain quantity of brine to the stream and in. taking out samples at a point farther down, which sample sub- Jected to very accurate analysis. The increase of salinity gives a factor whereby it is claimed the stream dis- charge oan be calculated with an ac- curacy leaving a margin of possible error of less than 1 per cent. —_—— A Good Shot. From London Answers. a woman, she straight aim.