XXV
THE morning of Wednesday saw the punctual Mame moving into that smart apartment house 16b Half Moon Street W. In the process, alas, a hole was made in her few remaining dollars. But she was feeling pretty “good” and therefore a trifle reckless. The dream still held. Her luck continued right in. Most girls in her position would have given a year of their lives for such a chance; and she was quietly determined to make the most of it.
Some of the money, which, in spite of her run of luck, was giving her so much concern, was spent on lending a smarter appearance to her luggage and personal effects. It was not that she minded her hostess so much. She had proved herself a true democrat by cottoning to “little Miss Chicago” as she had humorously christened her. But the nigger in the wood-pile was Davis. Her supercilious eyes were far more inquisitorial than those of her mistress. A suit case, of the right Bond Street breed, and some smart new “undies” might do something to appease the wretch. At least Miss Du Rance hoped fervently that they would, for deep in her ambitious young heart were fear and dislike of Davis.
However, in spite of straitened means, the new erabegan promisingly. It was a relief to escape at last from the gloom and the hostility of Fotheringay House. Mame had never liked the place and the people and they had never liked her. She was so much “the wrong kind of American” that those who were rapidly losing anything in the way of social status they had ever possessed had to be on their guard. This odd Miss Du Rance belonged to the very large class of persons they simply could not afford to know.
With the new hostess, however, things were otherwise. Lady Violet could afford to know anybody and everybody. All she asked of whomsoever she knew was that they should be straight and if possible amusing. There was no question that Miss Du Rance from the outset had greatly amused her new friend. She had stimulated her too; such enthusiasm was infectious. Besides, she had ideas. Not all were practicable, but they were evidence of a modern and progressive outlook. In a word “little Miss Chicago” was a force, she meant something. Lady Violet, who, in the opinion of those among her many friends whose judgment was worth the most, “was as clever as they made ’em,” had seen from the first that they might be of use to each other.
A few days of the new régime confirmed this view. Miss Amethyst Du Rance, called Mame for short, was a find. She was quick to learn, in some things she was curiously humble-minded; she had a charming animal zest in life and she was a very genuine worker. Indeed,the little American really seemed to love work for its own sake.
From Lady Violet’s point of view, this love of work was important. Like most Britishers, she herself had a hearty dislike of work; at the same time no one enjoyed the fruits of it more. It was a necessary evil which meant a life of independence. It meant a flat of one’s own, money in one’s purse, travel, a modest entertaining of one’s friends.
The Trehernes were influential people, but of late years they had grown poor. Since the father’s death, ten years ago, their mother had let the London house. By living a country life she had been able to keep things going during her son’s minority. But now that Bill was of age, it was more than ever necessary for his mother to pare cheese. What with death duties and the cynicism of politicians who lived by robbing the people who were in a minority at the polls, they were hanging on by their eyelids to the proud position they had inherited. One of the string of girls had recently married, but it could not be said that the family circumstances were easy.
If Lady Violet was to have the kind of life she wanted she must work or marry. Of the two evils she chose the less. It was not that she disliked men. She was far too sensible to draw arbitrary distinctions between the sexes, but at heart she was celibate. And having brains enough to maintain herself in a fitting manner, for the present, at all events, she saw no reasonfor bartering the personal freedom which meant more to her than anything else in life.
From the outset Mame proved her worth. In her own expressive phrase she was a “go-getter”; and with a little kindly mothering she soon began to develop her talent. All the “donkey-work” could safely be left to Mame. She didn’t mind writing down a dozen columns a week to Lady Violet’s fluent dictation; she didn’t mind clucking it out on a typewriter. Then, too, she had real powers of her own. She could be trusted to deal first-hand with all sorts of minor functions, from a new film to a sale of lingerie, in an arresting and informative manner. She had much of the flair of the journalist born. Celimene’s weekly letter grew infinitely less burdensome, and in certain respects more worth while.
Lady Violet generously acknowledged all this. And even if the new arrangement meant a slice out of her income she soon began to profit in other and unexpected ways. Miss Du Rance had ideas. Before long she revealed a power of turning them to commodity.
Mame had been a week under the happy and fruitful ægis of this new friend, when a second letter arrived from New York. Moreover, it contained a cheque. And this was welcome as flowers in May, particularly as it was made out for double the amount of the first.
Elmer P. Dobree had also written very nicely. The stuff was full of promise; but there was performance in it too. The editor of theMonitorwas tickled to death by it and was asking for more. Of course “theblue pencil” was still in use but Elmer P. was full of sage advice. Even in the Cowbarn days, he had been, but he had the art of giving it in a tactful way. Good old Elmer, what a white man he was! Mame gave a little sigh of gratitude as she fingered the cheque and then re-read the letter of theMonitor’snew assistant editor.
When Lady Violet came out of her bath, over which she liked to spend at least half an hour between ten a. m. and eleven, the letter was handed to her.
“I’ve got an idea,” Mame announced when the letter had been duly returned with her friend’s congratulations. “And I want you to come in on it. Now listen, hon.”
“Fire away,” said Lady Violet, elegantly fixing her kimono-clad slimness in a bergère chair.
“Suppose we shoot that weekly syndicate letter upon New York? And why shouldn’t they broadcast it all over the U. S.? Or why not a specialty with all the latest news and town gossip done in the Chickest style? You see what I mean? Or we might send two letters. ‘Celimene’ for New York and Boston and Chicago and Philadelphia and the highbrow cities; and ‘Mame’ for the small towns. Let us mail a couple of specimens right now to Elmer P. and put it up to him to work it his end. What do you say?”
Enkindled by Mame’s enthusiasm, which began to rise to bubbling point, Celimene could only yield.
“Easy money, I’ll tell the world.” Mame’s optimism was a tax upon the gravity of her friend.
“If we can put over the he-stuff we might persuade Elmer to have it cabled; and then I guess there’d be five hundred bucks a week for us cool.”
“Five hundred bucks a week, honey, you don’t say!” Celimene had a sense of humour. But she knew Mame well enough by now to appreciate that her flow of ideas must be taken seriously.
Over a pleasant luncheon at the Ladies Imperium, of which Mame had been already made an honourary, temporary member, they discussed the details of the plan.
“Now then, Celimene, come to it. We’ll start in this very afternoon. One letter for New York and one for Cowbarn, Iowa. Let us turn in that grand new opera we saw last night at Covent Garden and the private interview you had with that mossy-faced old dago who said he was the composer.”
Celimene approvingly helped Mame to some early asparagus. She owned she would never have thought of that.
“You would have, I expect,” said Mame generously. “But we must do the thing well. We shall be up against all the regular columnists of the New York papers. And we must go over bigger and better and brighter and breezier. So full of natural pep must we be that Elmer’s hair’ll curl like a crocodile’s tail.”
Go to it they did. That afternoon they worked like moles. They skimmed the cream of all that was happening in London, England. Mame loosed her descriptive powers, which were considerable. She guessed she knew just how to tickle the hick towns;while Lady Violet, who understood the taste of New York and Boston, artfully moderated the transports without taking out the pep.
Several items of spicy gossip were cunningly mingled with the regular news. “A little bird whispers that a certain Royal duke whose name must not be mentioned at the moment is paying court to the only daughter of a certain New Jersey banker. Wild horses will not force Celimene to divulge the name of the beaut in question, but her readers can be assured that when the hour of publication approaches they shall know a bit sooner than anyone else.”
“A risk, I fear.” Lady Violet was threatened with an attack of conscience. This tit-bit had gone round an exclusive dinner-table two nights before. It was some way ahead of the newspapers; it had been given more or less under the rose, and in Lady Violet’s opinion was a dangerous card to play. With all her Bohemianism she had inherited an old-fashioned respect for certain privacies and decorums. “Our Ambassador at Washington, if he happens to see it, may ask questions. He might want to know who Celimene is. Then there would be fuss this side the water and a too-enterprising journalist might find her name omitted from the next Court. And from our point of view, that would be a pity.”
Mame agreed. At all events with the latter part of the reasoning. The entrée was going to be one of the new firm’s assets. At the same time, the item in questionwas such a sure card to lead off with, that whatever happened she was sorely tempted to use it.
“That bit of eyewash is going to put the half-nelson on theMonitor.” When excited, Miss Du Rance had a tendency to mix her metaphors.
Her experienced friend shook the head of worldly wisdom. “There is Buck House to think of. It would be so easy to lose more than we gain.”
“We’ll gain big money. New York’ll give us a contract if we are first with the news. And I guess you’ve the influence to live down any bit of unpleasantness,” Mame shrewdly appended.
Lady Violet shook her head. So much did conscience trouble her, that even Mame, in whom strong passions had been loosed, felt bound to respect it. A real pity, all the same. Here was a scoop. The risk, therefore, was worth taking. But now that Lady Violet was standing on a matter of principle, Mame saw that nothing was likely to be gained by argument.
Among other little bits of spice was one which Mame herself felt inclined to query. Celimene laughingly suggested that the alliance of one of Britain’s marquises and a certain celebrated Three Ply Flannelette might be intelligently anticipated.
“Oh, but I’ll say not.”
“It is bound to happen, I assure you,” affirmed the sister of the marquis in question.
“’Tisn’t how I read the lines in his hand. And the leaves in his teacup. And the spots on his cards.”
Lady Violet smiled at this decisiveness. But Mamewas unmoved. “Besides,” said she, “do you suppose New York and Bawston care a hoot which young skirt he’s going to marry?”
“I agree. And yet not altogether if I may say so. Miss C. has American connections.”
“American connections!” Mame suspected from the first that Miss Three Ply’s trained-to-the-minuteness had not a European origin. “Go-getting with Poppa’s millions, is she?”
“She is always spoken of as a fresh and charming English girl, but it wouldn’t surprise one if the rumour of her engagement to Bill interested certain people of importance on Fifth Avenue.”
“It’d surprise me. I’d be surprised considerable.” Mame was careful to keep these musings to herself. “If ever I hear the Voice that breathed o’er Eden lifting off the roof of Saint Margaret’s while that pair of galoots marches up the aisle you can call me Cissy.”
So much for Mame’s private thoughts. Wisely, however, they were careful not to get themselves uttered in those particular words.