A Damsel in Distress

Mac came out, apologetic, carrying letters.

"Sorry, miss. By an oversight I put you among the G's."

"All's well that ends well. 'Put me among the G's.' There's a good

title for a song for you, George. Excuse me while I grapple with

the correspondence. I'll bet half of these are mash notes. I got

three between the first and second acts last night. Why the

nobility and gentry of this burg should think that I'm their

affinity just because I've got golden hair--which is perfectly

genuine, Mac; I can show you the pedigree--and because I earn an

honest living singing off the key, is more than I can understand."

Mac leaned his massive shoulders comfortably against the building,

and resumed his chat.

"I expect you're feeling very 'appy today, sir?"

George pondered. He was certainly feeling better since he had seen

Billie Dore, but he was far from being himself.

"I ought to be, I suppose. But I'm not."

"Ah, you're getting blarzy, sir, that's what it is. You've 'ad too

much of the fat, you 'ave. This piece was a big 'it in America,

wasn't it?"

"Yes. It ran over a year in New York, and there are three companies

of it out now."

"That's 'ow it is, you see. You've gone and got blarzy. Too big a

'elping of success, you've 'ad." Mac wagged a head like a harvest

moon. "You aren't a married man, are you, sir?"

Billie Dore finished skimming through her mail, and crumpled the

letters up into a large ball, which she handed to Mac.

"Here's something for you to read in your spare moments, Mac.

Glance through them any time you have a suspicion you may be a

chump, and you'll have the comfort of knowing that there are

others. What were you saying about being married?"

"Mr. Bevan and I was 'aving a talk about 'im being blarzy, miss."

"Are you blarzy, George?"

"So Mac says."

"And why is he blarzy, miss?" demanded Mac rhetorically.

"Don't ask me," said Billie. "It's not my fault."

"It's because, as I was saying, 'e's 'ad too big a 'elping of

success, and because 'e ain't a married man. You did say you wasn't

a married man, didn't you, sir?"

"I didn't. But I'm not."

"That's 'ow it is, you see. You pretty soon gets sick of pulling

off good things, if you ain't got nobody to pat you on the back for

doing of it. Why, when I was single, if I got 'old of a sure thing

for the three o'clock race and picked up a couple of quid, the

thrill of it didn't seem to linger somehow. But now, if some of the

gentlemen that come 'ere put me on to something safe and I make a

bit, 'arf the fascination of it is taking the stuff 'ome and

rolling it on to the kitchen table and 'aving 'er pat me on the

back."