“That’s just what I’ve been wanting to tell you about. You’re brainy, Bundle, and I want your advice. You know that musical show, Damn Your Eyes ?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you about one of the dirtiest pieces of work imaginable. My God! the theatrical crowd. There’s a girl—a Yankee girl—a perfect stunner—”
Bundle’s heart sank. The grievances of Bill’s lady friends were always interminable—they went on and on and there was no stemming them.
“This girl, Babe St. Maur her name is—”
“I wonder how she got that name?” said Bundle sarcastically.
Bill replied literally.
“She got it out of Who’s Who . Opened it and jabbed her finger down on a page without looking. Pretty nifty, eh? Her real name’s Goldschmidt or Abrameier—something quite impossible.”
“Oh, quite,” agreed Bundle.
“Well, Babe St. Maur is pretty smart. And she’s got muscles. She was one of the eight girls who made the living bridge—”
“Bill,” said Bundle desperately. “I went to see Jimmy Thesiger yesterday morning.”
“Good old Jimmy,” said Bill. “Well, as I was telling you, Babe’s pretty smart. You’ve got to be nowadays. She can put it over on most theatrical people. If you want to live, be high-handed, that’s what Babe says. And mind you, she’s the goods all right. She can act—it’s marvellous how that girl can act. She’d not much chance in Damn Your Eyes —just