The air
smelt of warm asphalt....
And it was Spring: the tenth Spring P. Sybarite had watched from that
self-same spot.
Discontent bred in him a brooding despondency. He felt quite sure that
the realists were right about Life: it wasn't worth living, after all.
The prospect of the theatre lost its attraction. He was sure he
wouldn't enjoy it. Such silly romantical nonsense was out of tune with
the immortal Truth about Things, which he had just discovered: Life
was a poor Joke....
At his side, George Bross, on his behalf, was nursing his private and
personal grouch. Between them they manufactured an atmosphere of gloom
that would have done credit to a brace of dumb Socialists.
But presently Miss Prim and Miss Lessing appeared, and changed all
that in a twinkling.
VII
AFTERMATH
"Well," observed Violet generously, "I thought little me was pretty
well stage-broke; but I gotta hand it to Otis. He's _some_ actor. He
had me going from the first snore."
"Some actor is _right_," affirmed Mr. Bross with conviction, "and some
show, too, if you wanta know. I could sit through it twicet. Say, I
couldn't quit thinkin' what a grand young time I'd start in this old
burg if I could only con this _Kismet_ thing into slippin' me _my_ Day
of Days. Believe me or not, there would be _a_ party."
"What would you do?" asked Molly Lessing, smiling.
"Well, the first flop I'd nail down all the coin that was handy, and
then I'd buy me a flock of automobiles--and have a table reserved for
me at the Knickerbocker for dinner every night--and.
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