Mary came up to the great man. “See here,
Abey,” she said, in a low voice, “you’re
making the worst mistake of your life. Apparently
this man hasn’t been discovered. When he
is, you know what’ll happen.”
“Vere doss he come from?”
“I don’t know. Billy here brought
him. I said he must have come out of a stained
glass window in St. Bartholomew’s Church.”
“Oho, ho!” said T-S.
“Anyhow, he’s new, and he’s too
good to keep. The paper’s ’ll get
hold of him sure. Just look at him!”
“But, Mary, can he act?”
“Act? My God, he don’t have to act!
He only has to look at you, and you want to fall at
his feet. Go be decent to him, and find out what
he wants.”
The great man surveyed the figure of the stranger
appraisingly. Then he went up to him. “See
here, Mr. Carpenter, maybe I could make you famous.
Vould you like dat?”
“I have never thought of being famous,”
was the reply.
“Vell, you tink of it now. If I hire you,
I make you de greatest actor in de vorld. I make
it a propaganda picture fer de churches, dey vould
show it to de headens in China and in Zululand.
I make you a contract fer ten years, and I pay you
five hunded dollars a veek, vedder you vork or not,
and you vouldn’t have to vork so much, because
I don’t catch myself makin’ a million dollar
feature picture vit gawd amighty and de angels in
it for no regular veekly releases. Maybe you
find some cheap skate feller vit some vild cat company
vot promise you more; but he sells de picture and
makes over de money to his vife’s brudders,
and den he goes bust, and vere you at den, hey?
Mary Magna, here, she tell you, if you git a contract
vit old Abey, it’s shoost like you got libbidy
bonds. I make dat lovely lady a check every veek
fer tirty-five hunded dollars, an’ I gotta sign
it vit my own hand, and I tell you it gives me de
cramps to sign so much money all de time, but I do
it, and you see all dem rings and ribbons and veils
and tings vot she buys vit de money, she looks like
a jeweler’s shop and a toy-store all rolled into
vun goin’ valkin’ down de street.”
“Mr. Carpenter was just scolding me for that,”
said Mary. “I’ve an idea if you pay
him a salary, he’ll feed it to the poor.”
“If I pay it,” said T-S, “it’s
his, and he can feed it to de dicky-birds if he vants
to. Vot you say, Mr. Carpenter?”
I was waiting with curiosity to hear what he would
say; but at that moment the door from the “maternity-room”
was opened, and the voice of Madame Planchet broke
in: “Here she ees!” And the flesh-mountain
appeared, with the two caryatids supporting her.
“My Gawd!” gasped Mrs. T-S. “I’m
dyin’!”
Her husband responded, beaming, “So you gone
and done it again!”
Said Mrs. T-S: “I’ll never do it
no more!”
Said the husband: “Y’allus say dat.
Fergit it, Maw, you’re all right now, you don’t
have to have your hair frizzed fer six mont’s!”
