I don't
know what to do. The only people I have on my calling list now are the
agents, and they will all be home splashing in the egg-nog.
"Gee, but I wish I was home. Was you ever in a country town on a New
Year's Day? Say, list. Sixty laughs in sixty minutes looks like a busy
day at the morgue compared to the laughs they hand out in one of those
one-night stand dumps. The Sons of Temperance all go out and get a bun
on ad lib. and everybody inhales good cheer. I sang in the choir. Honest
I did, but it didn't take. I got a silver cigarette case yet the
choirmaster gave me. But no home this year; me to the Cafe des Enfants.
What? Will I? Don't make such a foolish noise. I'll be there with my
hair in a braid. Two-thirty at Hector's. Say, you've got the Good
Samaritan looking like a rent collector. So long."
In which Sabrina discloses a little of her past and those of the
members of the company, tells how she was a bridesmaid and goes
into detail in regard to the benefit to humanity of having
carrier pigeons trained to rush the growler.
CHAPTER TWO
I was strolling down Broadway the other afternoon with Oscar when we
happened to meet Miss Sabrina, the show girl. I introduced them, of
course, and then retired to the background. This is what followed:
"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Jenkins. I've heard the party here
speak of you."
"Yes; and I have heard him say several nice things about you.
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