[Illustration] THE SPOKESMAN’S SECRETARY _Being the Letters of Mame to Mom_ _By_ UPTON SINCLAIR [Illustration] PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR PASADENA, CALIFORNIA COPYRIGHT, 1926 BY UPTON SINCLAIR CONTENTS LETTER PAGE I. In Which I Join the Higher-Ups 5 II. In Which I Go Behind the Scenes 9 III. In Which I Ring the Bell 13 IV. In Which I Guess a Riddle 18 V. In Which I Listen to Gossip 22 VI. In Which I Put on the Glad Rags 27 VII. In Which I Am Paid Compliments 32 VIII. In Which I Peek Into a Palace 37 IX. In Which I Don’t Get Wet 41 X. In Which I Take a Flop 46 XI. In Which I Play a Big Scene 51 XII. In Which I Miss Half a Dinner 57 XIII. In Which I Miss Another Half Dinner 62 XIV. In Which I Go on a Strike 67 XV. In Which I Lose My Lover 72 XVI. In Which I Am Made a Grammarian 77 XVII. In Which I Become a Syker 82 XVIII. In Which I Stick to the Job 88 LETTER I IN WHICH I JOIN THE HIGHER-UPS DEAR MOM: You been complaining there ain’t enough news in my letters, well you sure will get a load of it this trip of the postman. Your Mame has been cast for little Cinderella in the big political show and the fairy-coach is waiting at the door. This is how it come about, the place was busy and every girl had a customer but Florabelle and me, when a gentleman comes in, a top-notcher I can see and takes us in with a glance. He don’t need but one because Florabelle makes up her complexion in a dark room and ain’t got the sense to look it over by daylight. So he comes to my table and sits and says, “Go to it, lady.” He has got good hands not soft nor flabby like many of the big fellows, but you can see he ain’t had to skin them with hard work. I starts to washing them and gets a look out of the corner of my eye and I see he’s somewhere in the forties and a bit of grey in his hair. His cuffs is new and clean and everything quiet and exactly right. I says, “Fine weather we’re having,” and he makes the shortest kind of a noise that means yes and I see he’s thinking about something and would rather not be bothered--but what did he come into a manicure parlor for? So I looks sympathetic and says in a spiritual voice, “There’s sure a lot of troubles in the world ain’t there?” They always shows their surprise in their fingers. He says, “How did you find that out?” Says I, “I got my own but you needn’t worry my business is to listen to the gentlemen’s.” “Is that a part of the job?” says he and I tells him it’s the principal part. “They want to tell their troubles to some other woman;” and I looks up, and there is wrinkles of fun in the corner of his eyes.