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Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley

Page 53

"It's been everywhere else," she said loudly to the accusing, still,

small voice, "and it might jest as well go the limit. 'T won't bring

much, but 'twill help."

Through byways and highways Amarilly sought the region of the three-

balled porticoes. The shop of one Max Solstein attracted her, and she

entered his open door. Max, rat-eyed and frog-mouthed, came forward

propitiatingly.

"What'll you gimme on this?" came with directness from the small

importuner.

He took the garment, shook it, and held it up for falcon-gaze

inspection.

"Not worth much. A quarter of a dollar."

Amarilly snatched it from his grasp and fled. Not because of his low-

figured offer; she had fully expected to have to "beat him up." But when

she had entered, a youth who had all the recognized earmarks of a

reporter was lounging in the doorway. At sight of the uplifted garment

he had come eagerly forward, scenting a story. She knew his kind from

snatches of conversation she had heard between the leading lady and Lord

Algernon. In the lore of the stage at Barlow's, reporters were "hovering

vultures" who always dropped down when least wanted, and they had a way

of dragging to light the innermost thoughts of their victims.

"You read your secrets," Lord Algernon had dramatically declared, "in

blazoned headlines."

Hitherto Amarilly had effectually silenced her instinctive rebellion

against the profaning of St. John's surplice, but she had reached the

limit. No Max Solstein, no threatening landlord, no ruthless reporter

should thrust the sacred surplice into the publicity of print.

She darted from the shop, the reporter right at her heels, but the

chasing of his covey to corner was not easily accomplished. He was a

newly fledged reporter, and Amarilly had all the instinct of the lowly

for localities. She turned and doubled and dodged successfully. By a

course circuitous she returned to Hebrew haunts, this time to seek, one

Abram Canter, a little wizened, gnome-like Jew. Assuring herself that

there was no other than the proprietor within, Amarilly entered and

handed over the surplice for appraisal.

Once more the garment was held aloft. At that psychological moment an

elderly man of buxom build, benevolent in mien, and with smooth, long

hair that had an upward rolling tendency at the ends, looked in the shop

as he was passing. He halted, hesitated, and then entered. Of him,

however, Amarilly felt no apprehension.

"Looks like Quaker Oats, or mebby it's the Jack of Spades," she thought

after a searching survey.

"My child, is that yours?" he asked of Amarilly, indicating the garment

by a protesting forefinger.

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