The Sorrows of a Show Girl: A Story of the Great "White Way"McGaffey, Kenneth
General
The Sorrows of a Show Girl: A Story of the Great "White Way"
McGaffey, Kenneth
Theater -- Fiction
"Alla McSweeney certainly is a sneeze. She has no idea of the fitness of
things. I was telling her just the other day. I said, 'Alla, you
certainly are no piker. You'll go out and mace a good fellow for a big
feed just as if he was a John. Now, that ain't right. When you are out
with a James go to it and eat your head off. But when you are out with
some one in the business or a newspaper man be circumscribe. Though you
may want to wade through the whole dope sheet hitch your desire and
order what you think he can afford, and lay back until you get a live
one.'
"What? Sure we do. If a Jane goes out with a John that has nothing but.
Nothing's too good for her and walking is hard on the feet. The more
money the wop spends the bigger sport he thinks he is, but a fellow
professional has honorable intentions, sometimes, and it is considered
wise not to show what you are accustomed to until after he has bought
the ring or written some letters. I may go out with some fellow and
order everything from soup to nuts just to show him that I can, but the
way I won Wilbur's heart was by ordering a cheese sandwich the first
time he invited me out.
"My goodness! How I run on, and here it is getting late. Well, I must
toddle along and see how the Friar Festival is. I have a personal
interest in that. So long. Say, the next time you expect to get lanced
for the big feed tell her you were once in the business and it will save
you money. Ta, ta."
In which Sabrina has a row with the stage-manager, leaves the
show, frivols in the vineyard, denounces the male sex as being
all alike, threatens, to take the veil, but finally falls upon
the neck of her betrothed and all is forgotten.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We came upon Sabrina seated alone at a table in the rear of a cafe; her
hat was tilted rakishly over one ear, a couple of strands of hair were
hanging down over her forehead, a bright spot glowed on each cheek and
her eyes had a dim, moist appearance. The table was covered with glasses
and bottles and the chairs looked as if they had been hastily shoved
back.
As we approached her she waved her hand joyfully and exclaimed, 'Welcome
bri' Springtime. Wel-come to our country village. You--you behold in me
the only living survivor of the wreck of the Hesperus. Parade ri' up,
and give the waiter your hat, coat and vest and bevy in. Though I have
just given nineteen dollars' worth of hair puffs away as
sou-sou-ven--you say it, I feel like a new born child. Once again I am
care fre' and heart fre'. Tra la la la le. I have just decorated Wilbur
with the sacred order of the bee and I--hurray! hurray!--am no longer a
near-bride. Take it fr'm muh I feel so happy I don' care if I get spots
all over the fron' of my waist. I feel like a lark. Yes shur, a
bottled-in-bond lark. Whatever that ish. An' I still got the engagemen'
ring at that.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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