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And Kedzie answered: "Of course not. I wouldn't dream of such a thing." But that did not prove anything, either. Perhaps she merely wanted to trawl him along. She had Ferriday almost crazy at least she had added one more to his manias when Jim Dyckman wandered into the studio and set up an entirely new series of ambitions and discontents.
They want your hundred and twenty-five pounds of flesh. If you should break with them they'd have a case against you for damages." "How much?" said Kedzie, feeling like Mrs. Croesus. Ferriday whistled and murmured: "Spoken like the wife of a multimillionaire! So you've got him at last."
He took their feelings and set them on fire and juggled with them flaming. He had such caloric that he kindled actors and actresses to unsuspected brilliances. He made tinder of the dry-as-dusts, and he brought the warm-hearted to a white-hot glow. He dealt with primary emotions crudely but vigorously. A soldier saluting an officer became in a Ferriday picture a zealot rendering a national homage.
She remembered with sudden joy that Ferriday had made her a gift of one or two of the gowns Lady Powell-Carewe had designed for her camera-appearances, and she took them along for her debut into the topmost world. Jim arranged by telephone for the transportation of her luggage, and they set out on their new and hazardous journey.
He was very deferential, but he was, after all, only a Garfinkel and she needed a Ferriday. He explained that his chief was very busy and had instructed Garfinkel to teach Miss Adair the science of make-up for the camera, to take test pictures of her, and give her valuable hints in lens behavior. Late in the afternoon Ferriday came in to see the result of the first lesson.
Had not his backers threatened to murder him or sue him if he did not finish the big feature? At such times Kedzie usually kissed Ferriday to keep him quiet. But she was as careful not to give too many kisses as she had been not to put too many caramels in half a pound when she had clerked in the little candy-store.
I must go home. It's later than I thought, and " "And Mrs. Gilfoyle will wonder," Ferriday laughed. "That's right, my dear. You've got to keep good hours if you are going to succeethe on the screen. Early to bed, for you must early-to-rise. Garcon, garcon, l'addition, s'il vous please." While he was paying the bill Kedzie was thinking fleetly of her next problem.
The dual strain might have been the death of her, but she was saved by the absence of Lady Powell-Carewe. Kedzie went back to the street, sick with deferred hope. Ferriday's chauffeur was waiting to take her home. She felt grateful for the thoughtfulness of Ferriday and crept in. The nearer Kedzie came to her lowly highly flat the less she wanted even the chauffeur of Mr.
She broke his heart by her indifference and he tore up the poem, carefully saving the pieces. "A whole day's work and five dollars gone!" he groaned. He was so sulky that he forgot to ask her why she had come home so early. He assumed that she had been turned off. She taxed her ingenuity to devise some way of getting to the dinner with Ferriday without letting Gilfoyle know of it.
Ferriday did not take a sweet, but had a cheese instead, after an anxious debate with the waiter about the health of the Camembert and the decadence of the Roquefort. When this weighty matter was settled he returned to Kedzie: "Now for something to drink. A little sherry and bitters to begin with, of course; and a oh, umm, let me see simple things are best; suppose we stick to champagne."
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