'I'm sorry!' he said. 'Slowness is our national failing, you know.'
'I believe you.'
'Tell me about yourself. You know all about me, by now. What do you do
besides brightening up the dull evenings of poor devils of bank-clerks?'
'Give you three guesses.'
'Stage?'
'Gee! You're the human sleuth all right, all right! It's a home-run
every time when you get your deductive theories unlimbered. Yes,
George; the stage it is. I'm an actorine--one of the pony ballet in
_The Island of Girls_ at the Melody. Seen our show?'
'Not yet. I'll go tomorrow.'
'Great! I'll let them know, so that they can have the awning out and
the red carpet down. It's a cute little piece.'
'So I've heard.'
'Well, if I see you in front tomorrow, I'll give you half a smile, so
that you shan't feel you haven't got your money's worth. Good night,
George!'
'Good night, Peggy!'
She jumped down from the table. Her eye was caught by the photographs
on the mantelpiece. She began to examine them.
'Who are these Willies?' she said, picking up a group.
'That is the football team of my old school. The lout with the sheepish
smirk, holding the ball, is myself as I was before the cares of the
world soured me.'
Her eye wandered along the mantelpiece, and she swooped down on a
cabinet photograph of a girl.
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