XIX
MAME’S life had known its “moments.” This, however, was just the biggest it had known. Here was corn in Egypt. She examined the cheque, pressed it to her lips, and then reëxamined it in order to make sure that it was real.
There was a covering letter inside the envelope, nicely typed, from the office of the New YorkMonitor. So Paula had wangled herself a billet on the New YorkMonitor! One for her. It was a live paper. All sorts of whales wrote for theMonitor. Yes, Paula Wyse Ling was getting on.
The letter was dated Tuesday, 26th March. It began:
“Dear Mame, You must be wondering what has got me, or shall I say? what has got your script.”
Mame was perplexed.
“The truth is, things have been happening. I’ve lately taken up the post of assistant editor on this old-established and important journal. Still I ought to have acknowledged before now the stuff you sent me. Part of my excuse is there has been delay in sending it on from Cowbarn.”
Cowbarn!
“I left theIndependentsix weeks ago to take up my job here.”
Mame could bear the strain no longer. She gave a hasty glance at the foot of the page. Paula Ling was not the writer of the letter. The signature was almost undecipherable, but one time and another Mame had had much practice in reading it. “Cordially, Elmer P. Dobree.”
Yes, Elmer P.! No other! Mame’s chest began to tighten rather oddly. Fancy having doubted the loyalty of the dear boob! She ought to have known that he was one of the regular fellows. A man in a million, Elmer P.
In the nicest, modestest, most friendly way, his letter went on to say how much he liked “A Little Hick in London, England,” the whimsical name she had given her weekly budget of news. Other folks liked it too. The copy already to hand was going to be printed in theMonitor. He hoped she wouldn’t mind if it was pulled about a bit. TheMonitorhad so many calls on its space. But he was sure she would like to know that the chief editor’s fancy had been really tickled by the first-hand impressions and her way of putting them across. He would like her to do the big houses and the people she saw there; Buckingham Palace, if possible, the Houses of Parliament, Hurlingham, the Opera and so on, and if the series turned out as good as Elmer personally was sure it would, he felt he could promise on theMonitor’sbehalf that its interest in her would continue.
Mame had no thought of vaudeville now. But she executed apas seulin the confined space provided byan apology for a bedroom carpet. The letter was real, hard though it was to believe it. If, however, it had not been for that cheque for one hundred and fifty priceless dollars, she would have been forced to conclude that even Elmer P. was trying to put one over on her.