Evening Star Newspaper, September 27, 1925, Page 74

6 THE - SUN DAY STAR, WASHINGTON, l) C, SEPTEMBER 27, 1925—PART - THE PINCH O She Had a Great Talent and She Went to New York to Make a Career T her high school commence- ment Mabel sang “By the Land of the Laughing Water.” As an encore she gave “The Ros- ar. Afterward Mrs. Howard Alllson, wife of the president of the First Natlonal Bank, told her mother that she had heard a world-famous star sing “The Rosary,” and that of the two she preferred Mabel. “She sald to tell you there was no compartson. 1 just thought I'd let you know. They were in the pass pantry get- ting the creamed oysters ready for the enjors In the front room. M Tnnis kissed her daughter a little tim- idly. It was terrifying to think of herself the mother a world-fa- mous star. “These patties are ready,” she said. “Hadn't we better dish up the ovsters: Mabel was critically appraising the cream sauc “Not vet,” she sald. “They need a pinch of something.” Tt was funny that, with all her art, she was unerring about such ordf- nary things as flavors. rs. Innis knew that she would get something off the shelf that would make the ovetars taste better than even Mrs. Howard Allison’s high-priced cook uld make them taste. Whatever it she wouldn't learn it out of any She sensed it don't vou tell them T had any- thing to do with these ovster: warned Mabel. No.” promised Mrs, Inmis. T won't.” She understood how her daughter felt. A girl with a future like hers didn’t want to get hersell known as a good cook. * ok ¥ ABEL sang for the seniors one last song before they became forever alumni. Her mother, looking around at the wistful admiration on | thelr faces, knew that not even Isabel Allison, with all her father's money, was so pretty as Mabel. Yet even Isabel's face revealed no Jjealousy. The boys’ faces were, of course, in- fatuated. Herbie Brooksmith, the best center rush the high school ever had. and Mabel's admitted favorite, did not look more adoring than did the other boys, as the strains of “The Rosary” died away for the third time that evening. Herbie continued to be an excellent center rush, functioning thus at the State University for four years. Mabel went down to his senior ball. It was as they danced in the big college gym- nastum that she told him he might have more than a little hope. “Only,” she said. as they sat to- gether in the Turklsh corner behind the fir boughs with which the decora- tion committee had sequestered “you must be very patient. There is my art. you know.” Herbie was humble. go right on taking lesson: father’s real estate business was hoom- ing. He was to be taken into it. As nhis wife she need not lose a day of &rt. Mabel's beautiful eves saw. mot Jerble entranced before her, but thou- rands of Herbies. There was a dark- ened auditorium, from whose hush the y the great Figlione was saving, wiping tears from his eyes, is a triumph. You are established.” Blowly Mabel's the reality of He eyes came back to ble. “I must go away and study. mently. T owe it to my art RS. INNIS, that other proud pos M sessor with whom Herbie now shared Mabel and her art, dled that Summer. He dared. in the loneliness of the little white house where he had spent many happy hou self upon her. Why could they not be married at once? Almost, he felt, she trembled into his arms. Yet at the very brink of yielding she drew back. There was some money now. It was too dreadful to discuss it in'this sad hour. But her mother’s life insurance had been paid. Mabel recelved a good offer for the little white house. It she took it she would have She could stop taking lessons of Prof. Timmy, could go to New York, study six months With the great Figlione, and make the long-planned debut. raordinary questions came into Herble's perplexed inind. Could Mabel really mean to sell the little white house? If she made this debut in New York, then what? Where, then—he could not spare her the bewlildered question— would be come in? “Why, Herbie!” Mabel's lovely eyes reproached his doubts. “Wouldn't it be wonderful to know that you had helped me toward what I've always (reamed of doing—toward what meant so much to mother?” Three days later, as Mabel stood inder the scaring dome of the great waiting room of the Pennsyivania sta- she felt that she was at last upon a worthy threshold. The vast imper- sonal efficiency of this place, with its smart crowds, its uniformed officials, seemed @ prophecy of her augmented future. Then Margle fell upon her neck with gaspings of friendiy rapture. “Mabel! It you aren't a sight for This is Mabel sore eyes!. Pinky! Pinky was a manly young woman who gave Mabel a strong handclasp and assumed her bag. “We'll go over to Fifth and take a said Margie. “It's such a nice to begin. Oh, Mabel! You're soing to love it “Its wonderful:” she said and gave Margie her heautiful smile. Margie was just a girl of no distinguished talent, who was graduated from high sehool two vears earlier than Mabel. She had taken a business course and had gone to New York two or three vears ago. She was private secretary 1o some one in Wall Street. She was {n with all the theatrical crowd. At Jeast rumor suggested the outlines of these facts. Mabel had written to her for advice about her own impending entry, and had received an air-mail jatter, offering her the freedom of Margie's apartment, the entree to her theatrical group and the inside track 10 Fame. b The evening's pr 3 outlined it, between squeezes of Mabel's hand, as they sat together on top of the bu: would go to Margle's apartment. and Ploky shared it, but there room for a third. They had, in fact, been casting about for the right third and Mabel was heaven sent. After vlewing the apartment and freshening themselves a little, the plan was to have dinner at Carrie's Cellar, and then seats for “The Whirl- pool.”” The Corrupt Press would fur- nish the tickets. As they sprang from the bus, Pinky and Margie told her that they had veached the Village, and pointed out the landmarks. Ialfway along the block, they piunged down four step: into what had been the old Cavan- naugh mansion. % “Historic as the deuce.” said Pinky. “We've got the drawing room.’ It was a beautiful reom into which they ushered her. Mabel, “eeing the glitter of the mantelpiece crvstals, the graciousness of the old carvey mantel, the nice proportioning of helght with width and length, the darkness of the old oek floor, contrasted with the paneling of doers and window fram- it, | But she could | His | batlon presently broke. | to urge him- | -am, as Margie | was exciting. They | ' GRACE TORREY | ing, knew that the handiwork of | artists had gone to its fashioning. As she . struggled into the black dress that she called her costume de theater, Margie pointed out the three | new couch covers, the gorgeous pil- lows and the yellow paint on the kitchen chairs, ‘all making a sunny drawing room in Mabel's honor. A kitchen table, that had received one can of black paint, not merely strengthened up the color scheme, but symbolized a library. “Show her the combination butler's pantry and bathroom,” she wurged, “and the three-burner gas plate he- | hind the curtain. And tell her to make herself at home.” While Mabel made herself at home the girls described the crowd that | would dine at Carrfe's Cellar. There might be some one from the cast of “The Whirlpool.” And people in the writing game, or the musical game, or the producing game, dropped in. The Corrupt Press, who was in the newspaper game, knew them all. “You're going to love the Corrupt Press,” Margle sald. * ok ok Xk TTHE Corrupt Press did not, in the manner of Herble, call for them. He had not reached Carrfe’s Cellar, in fact, when they Invaded its dim ness. Margle had time to draw her attention to the frieze of headless blue | hf!!‘s@-“ and orange serpents ornament : ing the walls and to let her know | that they, as well as the pink and| | lemon colored lanterns faintly light-| {ng their repast, had been designed by the great Vashka himself. Over at that table,” she whispered, s Celia May, the dancer in ‘Moon' beams.’ Here comes the Prince!" With the Prince came Rose Stanley, his wife. The Prince, for everyday purposes, was Isidore Sochoff, born right in’ the village, but making a | name for himself us a player of roy- {alty in the new European plays ap- pearing on this side. Rose Stanl was a planist, in town between tours. Mabel heard Margle say, ““You want to keep your eye on Mabel. She's our | next stellar luminary.” Rose Stanley turned her haggard | stare on Mabel's face. Under the pro- | | longed scrutiny of her melancho | eves, Mabel knew the first uncertainty | of her life as to her own significance | | in the scheme of the universe. “You | are artiste?” Miss Stanley at length | inguired. “I hope so."” sald Mabel. | earlier she would have { answered yes. | “What is vour metier?” Miss Stan. | ley lighted her second cigarette and blew its smoke reflectively in Mabel's | tace. | "I sing.” coughed Mabel. 1 | “Oh!” Miss Stanley created further | | smoke screens. “You shall sing for me,” she commanded, rather than| | satd. Then the Corrupt Press arrived, | {and all interest centered on him. Nothing, Mabel instantly decided.| could be more Herbie's opposite than | | the Corrupt Press. Herble, a max-! nificent Viking, with blond hair and | massive shoulders, would have made | | two of him. | “His rezl name is Lorillard Mor- gan,” Margie explained. *His ances-| | tors planted Plymouth Rock and wrote the Constitution of the United | States. He has a B. A. degree or| something terrible like that. But he| | works for the New York ‘Press.’ and | we call him the Corrupt Press. Cute, tsn't he?" “I am iss ITnni T A moment | confidently heep In wolf's clothing, | sald the Corrupt Press.| We must walt,” she told him|iThoge who know and love me call| rather crowded and ¢ | me Lambie.” | | Herble. Mabel thought, would have | died rather than say such a thing. | Yet the young man had nice ey She liked his hair even though it w: dark. New York men, tco, she de. cided, had a way of dressing that | could give even Herbie hints. And Herble was a wonderful dresser. | .. “Lambte, dear,” said Rose Stanley. | “have vou some good mews for me?>" | Lorillard Morgan shifted ever so | lightly, so that the white arm seemed | to be resting rather on the back of his chair than on his shoulder, as he | handed her from an inner pocket an | envelope. As she read the inclosure | | she seemed pleased. | | “You are a good Lambie,” she said, | tossing the note to the Prince. “It is | from Figlione. He will recelve me at | {10 o'clock ow we shall see.” { | “Lamble!” Margle gasped. “How |do you do these marvelous things? | | First, tickets for ‘The Whirlpool. | | that's sold out two weeks ahead.| | Then letters from Figlione! What | next? | | "Prof. Timmy had known that | it was aificult to get at Figlione. He | had told Mabel not to be discouraged if she waited two weeks. Yet here | she sat beside a slim, exhausted-look- ing young man who drew letters from i | /v \ \e N\ W/ . sounds ever made by Pr not looking amused or satiric, could look very kind. She wrote that after the play they had gone to the studio of the Prin- cess Sochoff, the great planist, who had played for her while- she sang, “S{ mes vers avient des alles,” and the arfa from “Butterfly.” The Prin- cess had played much faster than ¥ Timmy. She had said that Mabel must work with her great friend Pietro Cenci. range an audition ve: he would ar- hon. . Concerning Lorillard Morgan she wrote that she thought he S 1L man- ager of the New York ‘Press.’ He had _told her that Figlione w oing to Europe for the Winter. “So that's that,” she ended. “In the Spring, when he comes back, per- haps 1 shall be all the better for told Herbie that she missed him. “There are so many things here that are different,” she wrote. *“I wish we could talk about them. Writ- ing is so hard.” One of the things she would have lked to talk about was Rose Stanley. She doubted if Rose were the kind of woman Herble would admire. That might be overlooked in one who was artiste. What Mabel had disliked most had been that Miss Stanley had afsed her singing. . Pinky had sald, Even Lorillard Morgan had told her without a suggestion of laughter i his eves, that while any one could see her he sang, it was difficult to re member that he should listen rather than look. “Will you sing some time again, he asked, “while I shut my eyes She did not tell Herble that, nor that Rose Stanley had not sald one complimentary word. After “Si mes vers,” she had even said, “You must learn French.” After the aria, she had saild, “You must work with my friend Pletro Cencl. He may know how to @0o.” * x % ABEL was able to let Herble know, in a few that the audition with Pietro Cenc off gloriously, accepted pupil in advance. has pa and that she was an « $20 an_hour, paid Cenci had been than kind. He had told her that he was & builder of volces and add three half tones to her upper register inside three months. Prof. Timmy's methods had been totally in- adequate and in fact erroneous. The tone was neither thrown forward against the teeth nor felt against the eyebrows. The maestro threw a few of his own tones against his teeth and evebrows, and Mabel realized that no £. Timmy had resembled these sounds. As an eml- nent exponent of bel canto, he spoke | to her of timbre and tonal beauty as|aria from “Butterfly, no M. had ever spoken 1 left the studlo treading on air. She had told him that she wished 0 make her debut at the Metropolitan in six months, and he had told her, as he bowed her out in his polite, forelgn manner, to leave all to him. As she walked toward the elevated, however, she thought somewhat seri- ously of the French and Italian les- sons that could be had at $3 an hour, with & tutor whom he could place af her disposal The sum total was rather stagger- ing. It made her decide upon sharing Mars drawing-room apartment that had, on her first night, seeme: luttered. Margle < a hundred dol ne and Pinky were pay lars 2 month for it, a colossal bargain for New York. Yet, unless a third partner could share it, they were con sidering letting it go, and taking some i 1 7] ” 1’1‘ MABEL HEARD MARGIE SAY: “YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR EYE ON MABEL. SHES OUR NEXT STELLAR LUMINARY.” Figlione out of his inside pocket as if he arranged interviews every morn- ing. She was aware, after the second {act, that Lorillard Morgan was study- | ing_her. | “Think you ecan stick it out?” he asked. She thought it extraordinary of him to have read her thoughts so { completel: “Well,” she said, “I don't have to think about it _just because it’s going on before me.” The young man laughed, and said he would tell that to the authors for their encouragement. L “What are you thinking about?” he asked. She wondered if she dared be truthful. “I was thinking about Figlione. I want to sing for him. How—is it easy——'she stumbled. The Corrupt Press lifted his eye- | brows. i “He’s sailing at noon tomorrow,” he told her. “Won't be hack until April. iJf T'd known 1 could-have g i hour for you instead of Rose | 'She was horuibly disappointed., “I'm to be here only six months,” she told him. “I'd hoped so much to study with him.” She did not tell all of this to Herbie just as it occurred, nor that the young man’s eyes, when they were that 0 mere hole in the wall for $75 or $80. Perhaps, she told herself, she would better thank the girl, to hang her clothes in their closet. Even then the monthly hole in her $6,500 would be impressive. She thanked them that evening as they heated a cun of vegetable soup over the three-burner gas plate. They were having potato chips and sliced ham from the delicatessen around the corner, topping off with French pastry aplece. It was a good way of beating off old H. C. of L., whose advances they had encouraged by the initiation banguet in Carrie's cellar. “Millionalres like you,” said Margle, “don’t have to think of these things. But the poor working girl learns to watch her step very closely.” She and Pinky got $30 a week aplece for valued clerfcal services. And Mar- gle had all sorts of ideas for little plays that would coin rovalties when she ot iheni written. Pinky had her on bond salesmanship, one of the most lucrative lines onen, these days, to woen. Meanwhiie they welcomed Mabel's §33 2 month, as well as her soclety. ““She’s our milllonaire boarder,” they told the friends who drifted in for an evening by the fireplace. “She has money in the bank,” was Margie's favorite introduction. “And iI" o more | would | for the chance! | she’s going on at the Metropiltan most | any time. It was six weeks before she began to 1dd, “Besides, she's the best cook in New York." Much as it annoyed Mabel to be pur- sued by this reputation, she had in- vited pursuit. The cold lash of rain struck her cheek as she stepped off the bus on her return from her fifth half hour with Pletro Cencl. She was healthily hungry and yet out of the mood for the porcelain glitter of an automat or Childs or the decaying candle light of those garrets, cellars, Red Horses, tea shoppes and grottoes in which the three of them had snatched food out of the mouths of the battling pack since she became the millionaire hoarder. Her own need for something clean and fresh and savory, eaten in a qulet room, was the Inspira- tion of the purchases with which she was laden as she struggled with her bundles and her umbrella. “Let me help,” sald Lorillard Mor- gan's volce. In her six weeks In New York she realized that few volces had made this request. She smiled at her rescuer. “I suppose I must tip you,” she sa{d. on’t you ask me to dinner?” he begged. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that eggplant? * 0 was a homellke scene Margie made her entrance an hour * on which later. Tho kitchen table before the blazing hearth stood ready for the food whose odors came from the three- | burner gas plate. Lorlllard Morgan | was beating potatoes, adding cream and butter at Mabel's’ direction. She was attending to something in a c; serole and the proper seasoning of a thick little steak. By the time Pinky had come everything was ready. The something in the casserole turned out to be the eggplant that Lorillard Mor- gan had indeed seen “Real meat!" gasped Margle over the steak later. “And what did you put in that casserole” “Just a pinch of something,” said Mabel. Everything was exactly right. The eggplant was not merely egg- plant. “The potatoes were not, Loril- lard Morgan told her, pommes de terre, but pommes de ciel. The little lls were hot clear through. The dish of Autumn fruits in the center of | the table and the clear amber of Ma- | bel's after-dinner coffee made the per- fect dessert. In deep content the four gorged and relaxed, grew warm and happy. | Outside the wind drove spiteful flur- rles of rain against the windows, and the loud drip sounded from the eaves | of the brick Luilding that was their | rear view. | ““Sing to us!" begged Margte. | bel sat Ma- down at the rented piano. First she gave them one or two of the | new « French group on ncl had launched her. ense of homecoming, which Pletro Then, with a she sang the then “Tha Ro- The Land of the | sary,” followed by | Laughing Water.” | ““Yon didn't close reproached Lortllard A “How could 1?” he asked. | His eyes persisted in obtruding | | themselves between her and the let- | ter she wrote to Herbie the next morn- | ing. It was a letter telling him that, | | ead of a Metropolitan debut this | vear, Pletro Cenci advised a concert | iebut in Lorelel Hall. She would | make her individual impression upon | the critics. Musical New York would !'b“l‘ present instead of the society rab- e. His reply came just after Pietro Cenci had more fully outlined the de- | talls of the Lorelei Hall debut. It | | could be managed, he had sald, for |about twelve hundred dollars. Mabel had heard him, appalled. And vet that night at the dinner to which Lorillard | Morzan had asked her he toid her hat it was not too much. ! “Fame," he sald. pushing aside the | | pink-shaded candiestick that they might talk more directly across their little table, “Is a calculating fade. Of course, in the end, all the money in the world doesn’t accomplish anything if the essential ingredient {sn't there.” “What 1s that?" she asked. | “Excellence,” he sald briefly. “Nerve gets you a long way. Money gets you a long way. But if you arrive, you can be pretty sure you're good.” The walter brought them something steaming and savory. “This soup,” he told her, ** s more or less famous for that very reason. Mable tasted it. “It seems to me;” | she sald, “that it needs just a pinch | | of something."” “There are thousands of tragedies in this town,” he went on. “Young | people come on here with an infinite | bellef in themselves—and an_infinite ignorance. They think they will make their flight to the stars in about 15 minutes. Thousands of them go un- | der. Some of them starve. They don't all have a bank account behind them, as you have. You can afford to walt.” She thought that the eyes search- ing her had in them something of warning. But she was to learn much before the walter brought back the | silver remaining from the $10 bill that Lorillard Morgan lald upon his plate. | She learned, for instance, that he had | written a few plays. | | “When will they asked, be put on?” she breathless almost as Margie herself. “Probably never,” was his reply. She told him she couldn’t believe that, when he knew so many people—Figli- one, for instance. Editors. Amazingly he ' asserted that knowing people helped very little. Managers did not produce plays out of friendship. All their friends had little plays, like dag- ! gers, ready to pull out of their boots any time the lights went off. A play. he told her, like a prima donna, had e good. | xcellence,” he said again. “That's [lh". magie.” | L | HER own hour made its winged | approach. Then, at the end of March, she saw a line in the musical announcements for the ensuing week to the effect that Mabel Innis would | be heard in recital at Lorelel Hall at 3 o'clock on Friday afternoon. Four- teen other recitals were scheduled for that week. She had tickets for all of them. Margle, gasping over the wonder and splendor of the event, had accepted her package. Pletro Cencl’s puplls and thelr friends would have a representation. The critics would | tiptoe in and out. Herbie and Isabel | Allison, scheduled to arrive on | Wednesday, would be her zuests. The right costume, the sympathetic ac- mpanist, were provided. The groups songs, Italian and French and lads, all were in rehearsal. Herbie, blond, magnificent and pos- sessive, came on schedule time, ready for dinner and a show that very night. She fended him off, sorry for the di appointment in his eyes. Wouldn't he take Isabel? After Friday she would be free to lark about. ~Until then she begged forgiveness. “It's not much of a welcome,” he told her, mutinously. “I know, Herbie!” she pleaded. “I'm dreadfully sorry. But Friday is the allimportant thing, you know. Everything depends on it | Distinctly she realized he was in | revolt. Yet what could she do? | Lorillard Morgan had been different. | He had telephoned that he bad got the critic on “the Press to agree to stay through whichever half of her program she would rather have him hear. And was there any little other thing he could do? " she said into the telephone. it 18 over you can tell me Y ‘““When German, the aria, the English bal- |, F SOMETHING L1 L Tl}lfl !?fl'l.\b\ ‘!F:leF_TlUl AUTOMAT FOUND TH.EM.L\T 10 O’CLOCK, STILL OBLIVIOUS OF TISE AND SPACE. = U | corres () ne what you think of my singing. You know,” you never have.” There was a silence at the other end of the wire. Then, “If you really wish me to,” he sald slowl “And you're to shut your eyes while vou listen,” she told him. As she hung up her receiver she knew that, with Rose Stanley’s si- lence, on her first night in New York, Lorillard Morgan's silence had been more vocal than all spoken comments on her volce. Rose Stanley's silence, she felt, had the needed knowledge behind ft. She had suspected igno- bie jealousy {n October. Back ‘of Lorillard Morgan's silence, however, she was sure there lay mot only knowledge, but the friendliest good will. She saw him slip into a seat at the rear of Lorelel Hall just as she began the first note of *Caro mio| bene,” which opened her program. It was not hard to see hip. He was one of perhaps a hundred and fifty | listeners eprinkled among_the thous- and seats of the hall. Herble was there, handsome and oconspicuously ruddy among the city faces. Beside him was Isabel Allison, slim and smart in her ne% New York outfit. Margie | was there, and Pinky, thelr friends, Pletro’s pupils, and the critics, lan- guidly leafing over her program. After the second song of her Itallan group Majors of the Union News drooped outward, looking at his watch. She had seen him make a note on his program. After the French group Hartwell of the Clarion and Smith of the Review went out together. Before the arfa Wayland of the Record slipped Into| a seat beside Lorillard Morgan. And she saw the critic of the Press standing beside the rear exit. Afterward in the spacious reception room behind the stage she was kissed and gasped over. Pletro Cencl brought up a critlc or two. “Very creditable,” the Record. “Mabel, darling?’ cried Isabel Alli-| son, holding both her hands in both her own. “I never was so proud! Wasn't that a high C? There!" she turned to Herble in triumph, “T told | you it was a high “Well, that's over,” sald Herble, | looking down at her. "*Do Tsabel and | I have to eat alone tonight?” | She and Pinky and Margle had din- | ner with them and went later to see | “Witching Winnie,” the musical com- | edy hit of the season. Herble was| amazed to learn that a musiclan like | Mabel had let “Witching Winnie” 8o | by. | “T suppose it {sn't classical enough | for you,{ he said, with a side glance at Isabel. “But low-brows llke Isabel| and me like to hear something with a | tune once in a while.” | * % % x | 'HE next morning Mabel let Margie and Pinky get away, keeping her head under the bed clothes, to estab- lish the fmpression that she was still asleep. When they had gone she got feverishly into her street clothes and went out to buy all the papers. sald Wayland of Her face did not change its expres- sion as she read them. In the Clarion she found that Mabel Innis, a Western singer of pleasing personal- ity, had given an ambitious program vesterday afternoon. Smith of the Re- view gave her a line to the effect that Miss Innis gave promise of becoming a pleasant exponent of lyrics. Way- land of the Record said she had per- sonal charm, but had not as yet per: fected the bel canto. Majors gave her a scatching dismissal. She lacked beauty of voice and should not have challenged criticism by the familiar difficulties of the arla upon her pro- gram. She had been off key at least once, and in its upper register her volce was forced. Press. There Lorillard Morgan's friend had recorded that a friendly audlence had warmly applauded Miss Innis' program. He thought English ballads were her especial metier, and granted the wisdom which selected as her first encore “By the Land of the Laughing Waters” and as her second the overworked and sentimental “Rosary.” Much as he deplored the | appearance of these numbers on any program, he recognized her especial gift in the rendering of intimate lyrics and encouraged her to pursue this obvious line. The telephone shrilled. That would be Herble. ‘he had Herble, Healthy and ardent; Herbie and the eight-room house with three baths. The tele- phone shrilled again. “No,” she said to it, “not that.” The third time it spoke she reached for the receiver. “IWhat s it?"" she whispered. “It's a gorgeous morning, Lorillard Morgan. “Is 1t?” she found somewhere a voice that was not her own. “I've just got another play back he went on. “Do you feel ke cele- brating with me?” Mabel, who a moment befors had seen her own dead face at the bottom of a deep, green pool, with seaweed floating back and forth over it, sud- denly laughed. “Aren’t you a darling!” she eald to the telephone. “Will you confirm that The tele- phone in replying did not speak in a tone efther of mockery or lightness. “Yes,"” said Mabel. sald The intimacies of an automat found | them at 10 o'clock still oblivious of time and space. As nearly as Mabel could remember. there had been cof- fee and rolls. Mainly there had been her confirming of her telephonic statement and Lorillard Morgan’s ad- mission that his eyes had never been enigmatic. “But what had I to giv asked. “I'm just a failure. “You've promised to give me the truth about my singing,” she said. “It is the singing of the most beau- tiful and beloved of persons in the whole world.” he answered. “And t is the truth.” 0,” she smiled, ridiculously happy. *“You must tell it all.” you?” he She turned to the | | | | | All about them the down-and-outs were breakfasting—the thin clerks, the stenographers, the errand girls, the homeless apartment dwellers, the defeated, the invisible people ho do the hard work of the world. rd Morgan, whose play had come back, and Mabel Innis, whose had applauded her L friends sterday at Lore lei Hall, smiled at each other in the olitude of their complete ur standing. “I've hoped T was wrong,” he told her, “that you mightn't have to be disappointed. And I've been glad yo had money. You can go on trying Life i3 whatever you make of it.” he shook her head at him. And she tc about the § X I've a wonderful ides say that 1 him he it's over not be u grotto nor u c¢ r. It sho be clean and qulet. There shouid e a fireplace and polished brass o would serve only v people as the e would hold no pushing. There should be much white paint. She had her mother's linen and old silver and a_houseful of quaint old black walnut. There should be enough light. There should be nothing canned. Things should be flavored. A dinner that would nourish two should not swallow the greater fraction of a $10 bill. She had = known she could cook. She h ways been ashamed of it until toda “1 shall call it,” she told him, Little White House.' " They were at the door of Margie's apartment. In the foyer there was Herble. he looked from him to L illard Morgan. “Oh!" she truthfully ¢I'm so sorry, Herbie! I forgot.” Afterward, as she looked at his out- raged back, going through the door she knew that Isabel could give h what she had never had to give Never, she was thinking, had she looked at Herble as Isabel had looked at him, only vesterd She won dered as she saw him shouldering his way rapidly across the street, whether she would ever see him again. Were he and the great Figlione alike part mar told him. { of the buried dream? * o ox 'HE Little White Ilouse t its immensely successful stride from | In six months it had | the beginning. a reputation, and she had almost her | sixty-five hundred dollars in the bank. She had added a second w room, and only those who telephoned a day_ahead saw the inside of th Little White House. She kept alws 2 place for Margle and Pinky, and many a lean genius fattened his legs under her old walnut. She gave Herble and Isabel Allison a special There should be | dinner there, when they came hone: | mooning to New York she looker | into Herbie's ruddy co nance, and saw the ance of Isabe knew she that Herbie ven if not forgotten | And the next | great Figilone. 1 at le merely a little ms with Lo; !ing, with puppy circles under =he did not knc from the stir ar diners that this w portance As a < great nev | it would some day & | night, as she looked | its’ uncommon me fat little m begged. iglione’s back. He'll listen} ’f"l‘l Pt ::‘"9" before to you. ment's leisure. ‘ “Figlione” She covered her eves | yolce at her elbov with her hand. T never want to hear | — his name.” Are you free a r £7" As they walked back to Margi ed. She tur apartment she sketched her idea. She e | would open a dining room. Tt should of cour: panting bo heard him say, ha journs in America, di dined in the House. he sa dining. { worthy of the { that which | soupcon jof somet quent 1 finger i pursued. tist art.” Art! For a moment the | that old ache submerged her eves met the eyes Morgan, never again te | enlgmatic. | _“Art” she rep | Figlione kissed “It is the salut one artist to another she What was it that had said that mor mat, about be made of it? Her softly lighted rooms White House. “Ah, well,”" she sighed happlly smiling upon them both the smile that portrait palnters were later to make famous, “why not?” (Copyright. 1925 the aut. ever yo surveyed the of the Little “Nowadays,” According to Twin’s Theory, “You Can’t Tell Art From a Manh M HELLMAN HAT'S that book you're reading?” wife. ¢ I asks the ‘Betty's Bed- she answers. “I thought,” says I, “that book was suppressed. “It was,” comes back Kate, with a gloat, “and I had the toughest time getting a copy. “I suppose,” I remarks with a sneer, “if there was a law against wading in sewers you'd have your pink toes dangling in one of 'em every day “When it comes to sewers,” sniffs the frau, “I wouldn't argue with no expert llke you. I'm reading this story not because it 1s supposed to be naughty but"—- “I suppose,” I cuts In, “you're wal- lowing in it to learn how to spell, eh?" “I want to find out,” goes on the misses, “why the book was sup- pressed.” “Well,” T inquires, “why was it?” “It's terrible,” answers the wife. “In the first hundred pages some awful things happen.” “Then, of course,” not going to finish it. “I certainly am,” retorts the frau. “I want to know all the reasons why it was suppressed. Besldes it is well- written and T should read it for art’s ys I, “you're answers Kate. “\What's your guess?” “Nowadays,” I tells her, “art is a hree-letter word meaning ‘bunk.’ It's nothing but an alibi for dirt and & N 2 8 BRI NSTEAD OF HAVING THEM STOP. SH THEM THE POWER TO LABEL '’EM AND THE POWER TO MAKE THE PRODUCERS CARRY THE LABEL WITH THE TITLE.” Metropolitan Museum. That place is all cluttered up with art and they ain’t stall for smut. Remember that show we went to see called ‘Nudities of 19257” “What about it?" asks the wife. “The cops were going to pull it.” says I, “but the guy that put it on called it ‘art’ and got away with it.” “Maybe it is art,” suggests the misses. “If that show's art,” I comes back, “I'm the best left-handed accordion playér in Labrador. The producer of ‘Nudities’ can't even spell the word; it's nothing t6 him but an abbrevi- ation for Arthur. Moe Ginsberg, of Wich a day in the week when you can't walk in there and get yourself two in the first row center on the aisle.” “There’s different kinds of art,” re- turns the frau, “and maybe those people you're talking dbout don't care nothing about paintings and sculp- tures and stuff like that. They ltke muslc—"" ‘Why don't they crash the concerts then?” T cuts in. ‘““The minds of those lads only run to one kind of art—and that's art in the nude, and it's got to have a wiggle at that. They wouldn't Do vou think that | walk across the street to see Venus Kans., and | and Milo, for example, but giv 'em a Mike Sweeney, the buyer from Muqca-i hotsytotsy chicken without dressing tine, Towa, on thelr trips to New York, | drop in to see shows like that because they’re thirsty for art?” “How do you know they're mnot snaps Kate. ‘mp- ,” says I, “they ain't no speculators’ tickets being sold for the i o '\ and they’ll post.” “Well,” comments the wife, “dan- cing is an art, ain't it?"” “Where do you draw the line?” T inquires. “Is murder an art? 1Is porch-climbing or safe-cracking an pay $10 to sit behind a art? If a nude woman on the stage is a piece of art why ain't she a piece of art when she walks across the street in the altogether?" “Those two things are different,” argues Kate. “‘What's the difference?” I wants to know. “The fact that you pay to see one and don't pay to see the other? Is the difference between art and what ain’t art $3.30? If that's the case the paintings in the Metropolitan are junk and the pictures you pay a penny to see in them arcades are great art.” “You're just silly,” returns the frau. “How would you figure show is art and when it “1 got to admit,” says I ain't no way excepting by character of the guys that put 'em on. You take a revue put on by u fathead ‘without no educations or refinements, with dough made by bootlegging and dope peddling, and you know darn well he's just catering to the kind of crowd that wants dirt and a lot of it. t ole Cover” ] _“What would vou do?" asks “Suppress the show?” t me,” 1 comes back. “If a bird wants to play around in_cesspools that’s his business, and I'd be the las one to stop him. I'd do the sa thing that thie Government does witi patent medicines How do you mean?” nquires Kate ake 'em brand the show,” 1 ex “In patent medicines the law ‘em put on the label how much alcohol they is in the stuff, how much you going to do that with ?" the frau wants to know. v, 1 returns. ke this ‘Nu ditles of 1925." I wouldn't take the least step to stop ke ‘em chinge it. I'd merely make 'em put a line under the title reading something like this—A filthy, indecent revue. Then if folks want to go to see il that's thelr business. They know what they're golng to zet, and if that's what they're after they know where to get it.” “Who," inquires the wife, “is golng to decide whether it is decent o not?” “A committee,” T tells her, “like they got in New York now. Instead of having them stop shows I'd onlv give them the power to label ‘em and the power to make the produce carry the label with the titl When did you get so moral? Kate, sarcastic. m just the same as T ever w I returns, “but I hate liars and hypo crites parading putridness under the name of art. If a guy s willing t put on a rough show he ocught to be { honest enough to tell the world it's rough. People should get what they want. If they order perfume they should get perfume, but they shouldn't be compelled to pay perfume prices for ditch water.” “If you advertised that a show wa< filthy and indecent,” remarks the wifc “you'd fill the theater. “That's all right by me,” says I. a man wants to be seen taking h wife to such a show, that's his affair If a producer wants to tie up ! name with that.kind of a show, that's h ask: Tt our | sleepy to bed. “All right,” 1 telis her, that book here.” “You want to read room’?” exclaims Kate. “Yeh,” says I. “I want to find out ¢ ‘why it was suppressed.’” rguments make me his frau. “I'm golng “but leave ‘Betty’s Bed ”n