The Washington herald., 1916-07-16
The Ice Cream Soda Story.
tCoplnght. lslaJ

III NJ VI Solu Sooo WV y
Copyright lslsl
You may make a living at II, out
you'n never realize your ambitions as
short story writer" said the man snug
ly. His name appears every month on
the cover Of at least two popular maga-
zines. You can't get into the life that
yields the most material No nice girl
can. Why. all the full blooded-storles
have been discovered-or born-in the
back rooms Of saloons-anywhere from
Bombay TO Battery Park"
But women do get into saloons" ar
gued the writer woman She paused
suggestively before a half-door. Beneath
its swinging panels they could see
frayed. spotted green skirt and a pair
OF new tan shoes and silk stockings.
Not literary women" frowned the
writer, pulling her elbow. Why do you
want this raw human nature stun any
way? Women's magazines pay better;
They are hungry for the copy you could
dig up without half trying. Happy end
ings. you know, and ice cream soda coun-
ter throbs."
What kind Of plot could you develop
from a chocolate sundae confidence"
walled the girl as she permitted herself
to be removed gently. "All women who
eat ice cream get fat. Fat women never
have any romances."
Well. perhaps a few drink lemonade"
grinned the leading author. The thin
ones must have q few women's magazine
adventures Let's go try EN-. Wen just
get into the big matinee crowd. I've just
got check from that bloody Wild West
story.
Let me start you on the road TO tur-
gid plutocracy by pointing out a human
interest mine-and filing you up with
matted milk"
| They pushed through a heavily per
fumed mob and managed to find seats
at a table smeared with drippings, damp
straws and crumpIed paper napkins
To the right. three-chinned matron was
| racuously scolding a meek little girl
for being wicked enough 10 sprinkle spots
! all over her Sunday best chest Several
other children. all whining for the un-
attainable, made HE miserable for thin
mother who seemed worried. cross, eN-
! pIosive Two women talked about the
effect Of hot weather on corns; three
| girls giggling condolences about "hinls.
three club delegates, strung TO the break
/ ing point. babbled prison reform, school
gardening, conservation OF forests and
hath rugs.
Every line Of the girls face spelled
! 81 told you So The author griuneo
nervously 1t was hot. II was stupid.
There was more romance in Bermuda
onion sandwich or keE OF sauerkraut
Then Camille Ingen blew in.
More accurately. fought her way IN
so glad TO see you" she said, slump
ing into the vacant chair at their table
/ We are no longer in the newspaper
game" warned the author. rildIy deny
irg any claim 10 her cogLlality. But
we'd be honorei 10 have YOU drink with
US"
'Thanks-chocolate smdae. And I no
| longer talk for publication beamed
! Camille Ingen. putting her elbows on the
table. I'm thirsty. And happy. And I'm
just dying TO talk about /: TO some one.
I'm going to be married.
/ Married" The old news instinct blaz-
ed"
Married To Pullman conductor. We
are going to both retire and live in Erie" ."
Married to a conductor. You who have
been a princess, and a dancer and the
wife Of a millionaires son.
The ex-newspaper couple looked al
each other blankly. Ingeu had few
rivals in the art Of publicity grabbing.
They had often interviewed her about
| her divorces, her newest sensational
dances, her lawsuits or some OF the d.
vorces she was alleged to have caused.
Their first thought was that Ingens
press agent had hit upon a really origt-
nal way OF getting a first page story this
time.
! Camille poised her spoon and looked at
! them solemnly.
! And I'm not going to dance again. l
am going to dodge reporters and try to
raise butter beans instead Of Hades.
| You'll do me a favor If you don't mention
il anywhere near Park Row. ! want to
! stop being a good story and hem
! dish towels and have neighbors."
Tell US about it" begged the girl. 1T
is a long way from a title and Clique
To-
"A railroad conductor-and a plate OF
Ice cream" Camille folded her hands
and stared with great sincerity. We'll.
! the prince and the millionaire's son and
| the wine and the newspaper scandals
we're all DEGREES of destiny. I always
wanted something like Pullman con-
ductor and soda fountain stimulants. But
was beautiful. and I could dance. I
| couldn't escape the kind OF life that goes
with it, never had any choice, before,
about living. Princes and champagne and
! excitement and trouble just naturally
came my way"
The author was wild eyed.
"Where did you ever md a Pullman
conductor" he gasped appealingly.
In a sanitarium," beamed Camille In
gen" And believe me, I had some trouble
| in landing him. We were both somewhat
! smashed up in that accident down near
Cleveland. When we got patched up
enough to be wheeled out. on the veran-
das used to make them wheel me close
and for weeks / Just prayed no one would
! tell him all about me- L"
The dancer had dropped her spoon,
and they say, TO her amazement that
she had her hands clasped tightly in
her lap.
He was too bright for a Pullman
conductor, but he had never been
strong-and he wanted to do some
thing. And he was kind. and clean