Putnam patriot., 1915-05-21

III SUI PRISE EIlInd MCCueSu6y luIuSu
at the door for another look at the
hair, figure, complexion and kimono.
"Oh, you're an actress Well, If
you think mine is hard life for a
woman, why"
Mel" said the green-gold blonde,
and laughed not prettily. 81 amt a
woman. I'm a queen of burlesque."
"Burlesque? You mean one of
those" Emma McChesney stopped,
her usually deft tongue 1oundering.
Zone of those men only troupes !?
You guessed 1t. I'm Blanche LeHaye,
of the Sam Levin Crackerjack Bellies.
We get into North Bend at six tomor-
row morning, and we play there tomor-
row night, Sunday" She took a step
forward so that her haggard face and
artificially tinted hair were very near
Emma McChesney. Know what was
thinkin just one second before you
come out here?"
mo; what?"
81 was thinkin' what cinch 1t would
be to just push aside that canvas thing
there by the steps and try what the
newspaper accounts call Jumping into
the night Say, if I'd had on my other
lawnjerie III bet I'd have done it,"
Into Emma McChesney's understand
ing heart there swept a wave of pity.
But she answered lightly: is that
supposed to be funny?"
The plump blonde yawned at de-
pa77dc ~, van ftupu bppa ATircfs Oof
blunted. I'm the lady that the Irish
comedy guy slaps in the face with a
bunch of lettuce. Say, there's some
thing about you that makes a person
get gabby and tell things. You'd make
a swell clairvoyant."
Beneath the comedy of the bleached
hair, and the faced face, and the
bizarre wrapper; behind the coarse
ness and yulgarity and ignorance,
Emma McChesney's keen mental eye
saw something decent and clean and
beautiful. And something pitiable.
and something tragic.
81 guess you'd better come in and
ney; and somehow found her hand
resting on the woman's shoulder. So
they stood, On the swaying, jolting
platform. Blanche LeHaye, of the Sam
Levin Crackerjack Bellies, looked
down, askance, at the hand on her
shoulder, as at some strange and in
teresting object.
Ten years ago" she said, that
would have started me telling the
story of my life, with all the tremolo
stops on, and the orchestra in tears.
Now it only makes me mad"
Emma McChesney's hand seemed to
snatch itself away from the woman's
shoulder.
You cant treat me with your life's
history. I'm going in"
wait a minute. Don't go away
sore, kid. On the square, l guess 1
liked the feel of your hand on my
arm, like that. Say, I've done the
same thing myself to a strange dog
that looked up at me, pitiful. You
know, the way you reach down. and
pat m on the head, and say, Nice dog
gle, nice doggie, old fellow even If it
is street cur, with a chawed ear, and
no tail. They growl and show their
teeth, but they like 1t. A woman
Lordyi There comes the brakeman.
Let's beat it. Amt we the nervy old
hens!"
The female of the species as she is
found in sleeping-car dressing-rooms
had taught Emma McChesney TO rise
betimes that she might avoid contact
with certain frowsy, shapeless beings
armed with bottles OF milky liquids,
and boxes of rosy pastes. and pencils
that made arched and inky lines; be-
ings redolent of bitter almond. and vio-
let toilet water; beings in doubtful cor
sets and green silk petticoats perfect
as TO aeeordion-plaited fiounce but
showing Sits and tatters farther up;
beings jealousy guarding their ten
inches of mirror space and eonsenting
TO move for no one; ladies who had
come all the way from Texas and who
insisted on telling about it, despite a
mouthful OF hairpins; doubtful sisters
who called one dearie and required TO
be hooked up; distracted mothers with
three small children who wiped their
hands on your shirt waist.
So it was that Emma McChesney,
hated and yelled by 5: is, saw the cur
tains OF the berth opposite rent asun-
der to disclose the rumpled, shapeless
figure of Miss Blanche LeHaye. The
queen of burlesque bore in her arms a
conglomerate mass of shoes. corset,