"
"The wall-eyed thing!" exclaimed Miss Carrington, with asperity.
"Why, Tom Beedle once--say, you folks, excuse me a while--this is
an old friend of mine--Mr.--what was it? Yes, Mr. Summers--Mr.
Goldstein, Mr. Ricketts, Mr.-- Oh, what's yours? 'Johnny''ll do--come
on over here and tell me some more."
She swept him to an isolated table in a corner. Herr Goldstein
shrugged his fat shoulders and beckoned to the waiter. The newspaper
man brightened a little and mentioned absinthe. The youth with parted
hair was plunged into melancholy. The guests of the rathskeller
laughed, clinked glasses and enjoyed the comedy that Posie Carrington
was treating them to after her regular performance. A few cynical
ones whispered "press agent"' and smiled wisely.
Posie Carrington laid her dimpled and desirable chin upon her hands,
and forgot her audience--a faculty that had won her laurels for her.
"I don't seem to recollect any Bill Summers," she said, thoughtfully
gazing straight into the innocent blue eyes of the rustic young
man. "But I know the Summerses, all right. I guess there ain't many
changes in the old town. You see any of my folks lately?"
And then Highsmith played his trump. The part of "Sol Haytosser"
called for pathos as well as comedy. Miss Carrington should see that
he could do that as well.
"Miss Posie," said "Bill Summers," "I was up to your folkeses house
jist two or three days ago. No, there ain't many changes to speak of.
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