A Star for a Night Part 11

"Eh, what?" almost shouted Pinkie. "Do you mean it?"

"Do I mean it?" insisted "Marky." "Sure. I've got a taxi waiting outside. Will you come?"

Pinkie rose majestically to the occasion. Drying her eyes, and looking anxiously at the parlor clock for fear that it might already be time for Flossie to return before she could get into the taxicab, she grabbed her coat, without even waiting to get a hat, seized "Marky" by the arm and dragged him toward the hallway.

"Will I?" she repeated. "Watch me, kid."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'M SORRY I'M SO POOR" SOBBED PINKIE.]

CHAPTER VIII

SANFORD GORDON REAPPEARS

A smart limousine car darted across Broadway, turned the corner, and drew up before the door of Mrs. Anderson's boarding-house. A tall, dark, good-looking chap, whose erect figure was completely enveloped in a fur-lined overcoat, emerged, and walked briskly up the steps. Lizzie answered the bell, and started back in surprise when the stranger calmly stepped inside, closed the door, slipped her a dollar bill, and said quietly:

"Take this card to Miss Farnum. She is expecting me."

"Yes, sir," stammered Lizzie. "Will you wait in the parlor, sir?"

"So this is where she lives?" mused the visitor, shaking his head as he looked around the neat but poorly furnished room, with its supply of theatrical photographs and the large picture of Arnold Lawrence, leading man, on the piano. "I'll soon get her out of this miserable hole."

Martha Farnum entered, her step so light that he did not hear her until she touched his arm and extended her hand in greeting. "Mr. Gordon!"

"I received your message," cried Sanford, turning quickly and clasping her hand with such fervor that Martha unconsciously sought to withdraw it. "I'm glad you remember me."

"I remembered the name," explained Martha. "You are a man so much talked about that it is not strange a little country girl should remember the time she first met so celebrated a personage. But when you sent me the note to-night, I realized for the first time that it was you who had been sending me so many presents."

"Only a few trifles--"

"And so I wanted to see you."

"That was kind of you," replied Gordon, as they sat on the sofa. "I have been wanting to see you all these weeks, but somehow I didn't know how to begin. Finally, to-night, I decided to write you a little message and see if you remembered me."

Martha turned toward him frankly.

"I want to know the meaning of your remarkable presents," she said, with the utmost ingenuousness.

Gordon laughed a trifle, as though to dismiss the matter.

"Nonsense," he declared. "They weren't so very remarkable. A few presents and a little pin-money which I thought might come in handy for a girl getting a small income."

"Such presents would be appreciated by some girls," replied Martha, offering him a small packet which she had held in her hand, "but I have no right to take them."

"Then you haven't spent anything?" exclaimed Gordon, in surprise, looking at the roll of yellow-backed bills and the half-dozen trinkets which she returned to him.

"Not a dollar. I would have returned them sooner, but I didn't know who the mysterious donor was."

"Please keep the money, Miss Farnum, and the other things. They mean nothing to me, and think of the comfort and pleasure they can bring you."

"I have no right to accept anything from you."

"Then take the money for some one else. There must be some pet charity, some deserving chorus girl who has a sick mother, some fresh-air fund you want to contribute to. Please don't ask me to take back things so freely given."

"No, I cannot take it," replied Martha, firmly.

Gordon twirled his moustache nervously and peered curiously at her. Here was a case, indeed, one which the fastidious Sanford had never previously encountered. A chorus girl to refuse money and presents?

Unprecedented! How the chaps at the club would chaff him if he ever told the story. He--the best-known boulevardier of Broadway, a welcome guest at every Bohemian gathering, who called actors and managers by their first names and was the most flattered and most sought after member of that queer white-light society of night revellers which regarded the setting of the sun as the dawning of a new day--he, Sanford Gordon, virtually flouted by an obscure chorus girl whom he had deigned to honor with his attentions? Why, the thing was unbelievable.

"Are you in earnest?" he demanded.

"Certainly," replied Martha, rising. "I cannot be under obligations to you or any one else, especially in money matters."

"Listen, Miss Farnum," cried Gordon, coming to her. "My conduct may seem strange to you. Call it a whim, if you like. But since I saw you that first night at the Casino, I have wanted to be friends with you. Can't we be friends?"

"Friends? Why, of course," replied Martha, sincerely.

"You want to succeed in your profession. Let me help you."

"What could you do?"

"I know the manager pretty well, for one thing. Victor Weldon is going to make a few new productions this season, and if I asked him to give you a part, he would probably do it."

"But I want to succeed on my merits," insisted Martha. "If I am to win success, I must deserve it. I should be ashamed and humiliated if I secured an engagement through influence, and then failed."

"But why refuse influence?" protested Gordon. "It gives you the opportunity, and that is something every one must have. Many a clever actor and actress is walking Broadway to-day without an engagement, simply because of lack of opportunity. Now, if Weldon offers you a part in his new production at the Globe Theater, you won't refuse it, will you?"

"No, I wouldn't do that," pondered Martha. "But do you think I could play a small part?"

"Of course you can, and anyhow, never give up without a trial. Weldon might even offer you the leading role if the part suited you."

"The leading role?" gasped Martha. "Impossible!"

"Not at all," continued Gordon. "I happen to know that in his new production the leading role is that of a simple little country girl--just the sort of ingenue you were when I first met you at French Lick. The songs are simple. In fact, it's a little play with songs--not a big musical production. Your very simplicity and naturalness would make you splendidly suited to the role."

"It sounds like a dream," cried Martha, wonderingly. "Are you sure Mr.

Weldon would ever give me a trial in the part?"

Gordon came close to her. "If I ask it," he said impressively and with a queer inflection of his voice which Martha did not understand. "If I ask it, the thing is done. Come out to dinner with me and we'll talk it over."

Martha's heart sank. "I'd like to, really," she said wearily, "but I've never been out to dinner before, and Aunt Jane would be furious if I went."

"You are not responsible to--your Aunt Jane, as you call her--are you?"

"No, but--"