"Or
perhaps you won't," she amended with deeper perceptiveness. "Have you
been trying me as an anodyne?" she demanded sternly.
Banneker had the grace to blush. Instantly she rippled into laughter.
"I've never seen you at a loss before. You look as sheepish as a
stage-door Johnnie when his inamorata gets into the other fellow's car.
Ban, you never hung about stage-doors, did you? I think it would be good
for you; tame your proud spirit and all that. Why don't you write one of
your 'Eban' sketches on John H. Stage-Door?"
"I'll do better than that. Give me of your wisdom on the subject and
I'll write an interview with you for Tittle-Tattle."
"Do! And make me awfully clever, please. Our press-agent hasn't put
anything over for weeks. He's got a starving wife and seven drunken
children, or something like that, and, as he'll take all the credit for
the interview and even claim that he wrote it unless you sign it,
perhaps it'll get him a raise and he can then buy the girl who plays the
manicure part a bunch of orchids. _He_'d have been a stage-door Johnnie
if he hadn't stubbed his toe and become a press-agent."
"All right," said Banneker. "Now: I'll ask the stupid questions and you
give the cutie answers."
It was two o'clock when Miss Betty Raleigh, having seen the gist of all
her witty and profound observations upon a strange species embodied in
three or four scrawled notes on the back of a menu, rose and observed
that, whereas acting was her favorite pastime, her real and serious
business was sleep.
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