“‘Wicked!’ ‘Rotten!’ ‘Cheap!’” she repeated slowly, but breathing hard. “Listen to the infant! ‘Rotten!’” She lingered on the word as if it had a familiar sound. “Well, what is life, anyhow?” she flung out suddenly at the six-foot “infant.” “Maybe you think this theater business is like going to Sunday-school—that all we have to do is to hold goody-goody hands and sing those salvation songs! Salvation! Gee!” And Gee-gee folded her arms. She seemed to meditate. “You know what kind of salvation a girl gets down on old Broadway?” she scoffed. “Aren’t the men nice and kind? Don’t they take you by the hand and say: ‘Come on, little girl, I’ll give you a helping hand.’ Oh, yes, they give you a helping hand. But it isn’t ‘up.’ It’s all ‘down.’ And every one wants to see how deep they can make it. Say, Infant, I was born in one of those avenues with letters. People like these”—looking toward the house—“don’t know nothing about that kind of an avenue. It ought to be called a rotten alley. That’s where I learned what ‘rotten’ meant. Nice young gentlemen like you who toddled about with nursie in the park can’t tell _me_.” Bob tried not to look small; he endeavored to maintain his dignity. He was almost sorry he had got Gee-gee started. The conversation was leading into unexpected channels. “Why, I toddled about in rottenness,” went on Gee-gee. “Gutters were my playground.” Dreamily. She seemed to be forgetting her resentment in these childhood recollections. “Sometimes I slept in cellar doorways, with the rotten cabbages all around. But they and all the rest of the spoiled things seemed to agree with me. I’ve thrived on rottenness, Infant!” Bob winced. “It’s all that some girls get. Men!” And Gee-gee laughed. Here was a topic she could dilate on. Again the opal eyes gleamed tigerishly. “I’ve got a lot of cause to love ’em. Oh, ain’t they particular about _their_ reputations!” Gee-gee’s chuckle was fiendish. “Poor, precious little dears! Be careful and don’t get a teeny speck of smudge on their snowy white wings! My! look out! don’t splash ’em! Or, if you do, rub it off quick so the people in church won’t see it. But when it comes to us”—Gee-gee showed her teeth. “I learned when I was in the gutter that I had to fight. Sometimes I had to fight with dogs for a crust. Sometimes with boys who were worse still. Later, with men who were worst of all. And,” said Gee-gee, again tossing her auburn mane, “I’m still fighting, Infant!” “Which means,” said Bob slowly, overlooking these repeated insults to his dignity, “you aren’t here just to exhibit those histrionic talents you talked about?”