A Damsel in Distress

"I love it. Have you seen Hubert Broadleigh in ''Twas Once in

Spring'?"

"I'm afraid I haven't."

"He's wonderful. Have you see Cynthia Dane in 'A Woman's No'?"

"I missed that one too."

"Perhaps you prefer musical pieces? I saw an awfully good musical

comedy before I left town. It's called 'Follow the Girl'. It's at

the Regal Theatre. Have you see it?"

"I wrote it."

"You--what!"

"That is to say, I wrote the music."

"But the music's lovely," gasped little Miss Plummer, as if the

fact made his claim ridiculous. "I've been humming it ever since."

"I can't help that. I still stick to it that I wrote it."

"You aren't George Bevan!"

"I am!"

"But--" Miss Plummer's voice almost failed here--"But I've been

dancing to your music for years! I've got about fifty of your

records on the Victrola at home."

George blushed. However successful a man may be he can never get

used to Fame at close range.

"Why, that tricky thing--you know, in the second act--is the

darlingest thing I ever heard. I'm mad about it."

"Do you mean the one that goes lumty-lumty-tum, tumty-tumty-tum?"

"No the one that goes ta-rumty-tum-tum, ta-rumty-tum.

You know! The one about Granny dancing the shimmy."

"I'm not responsible for the words, you know," urged George

hastily. "Those are wished on me by the lyrist."

"I think the words are splendid. Although poor popper thinks its

improper, Granny's always doing it and nobody can stop her! I loved

it." Miss Plummer leaned forward excitedly. She was an impulsive

girl. "Lady Caroline."

Conversation stopped. Lady Caroline turned.

"Yes, Millie?"

"Did you know that Mr. Bevan was _the_ Mr. Bevan?"

Everybody was listening now. George huddled pinkly in his chair. He

had not foreseen this bally-hooing. Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego

combined had never felt a tithe of the warmth that consumed him. He

was essentially a modest young man.

"_The_ Mr. Bevan?" echoed Lady Caroline coldly. It was painful to

her to have to recognize George's existence on the same planet as

herself. To admire him, as Miss Plummer apparently expected her to

do, was a loathsome task. She cast one glance, fresh from the

refrigerator, at the shrinking George, and elevated her

aristocratic eyebrows.

Miss Plummer was not damped. She was at the hero-worshipping age,

and George shared with the Messrs. Fairbanks, Francis X. Bushman,

and one or two tennis champions an imposing pedestal in her Hall of

Fame.

"You know! George Bevan, who wrote the music of 'Follow the Girl'."

Lady Caroline showed no signs of thawing. She had not heard of

'Follow the Girl'. Her attitude suggested that, while she admitted

the possibility of George having disgraced himself in the manner

indicated, it was nothing to her.