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But now, as she studied the woman huddled there in the corner, she was conscious of a shuddering disgust of her of the soiled blouse, of the cheap finery, of the sunken places around the jaw-bone, of the swollen places beneath the eyes, of the thin, carmined lips, of the Blanche LeHaye opened her eyes suddenly and caught the look on Emma McChesney's face. Caught it, and comprehended it.
They were quarreling among themselves, and a flame of hate for the moment lighted up those dull, stupid, vicious faces. Blanche LeHaye appeared to be the center about which the strife waged, for suddenly she flung through the shrill group and walked swiftly over to the 'bus and climbed into it heavily. One of the women turned, her face lived beneath the paint, to scream a great oath after her.
The cheap lithographs of the Sam Levin Crackerjack Belles Company glared at one from the bill-boards. "That's our paper," explained Blanche LeHaye. "That's me, in the center of the bunch, with the pink reins in my hands, drivin' that four-in-hand of johnnies. Hot stuff! Just let Dacre try to get it away from me, that's all. I'll show'm." She sank back into her corner.
Miss Blanche LeHaye had made the most of her eleven minutes. Her baggage attended to, Emma McChesney climbed into a hotel 'bus. It bore no other passengers. From her corner in the vehicle she could see the queen of burlesque standing in the center of the depot platform, surrounded by her company.
It's got skirts and suits beat a mile. Hot, ain't it? Say, suppose you girls slip off your waists and I'll give you each an all-over apron that's loose and let's the breeze slide around." Blanche LeHaye, the garrulous, was strangely silent. When she stepped about it was in the manner of one who is fearful of wakening a sleeper.
I don't hurt anybody but myself. Len's wife that's what I call bad." "But I don't think you're bad clear through," tried Emma McChesney. "I don't. That's why I made that proposition to you. That's why I want you to get away from all this, and start over again." "Me?" laughed Blanche LeHaye. "Me! In a office! With ledgers, and sale bills, and accounts, and all that stuff!
"Tell me, Miss LeHaye, haven't you ever thought of quitting that the stage and turning to something something " "Something decent?" Blanche LeHaye finished for her. "I used to. I've got over that. Now all I ask is to get a laugh when I kick the comedian's hat off with my toe." "But there must have been a time " insinuated Emma McChesney, gently.
I've been there long enough to have some say-so, and if I recommend you they'd start you in the basement at first, and then, if you made good, they advance you right along." Blanche LeHaye stood up and, twisting her arm around at the back, began to unbutton her gingham apron. "I guess you think I'm a bad one, don't you? Well, maybe I am. But I'm not the worst. I've got a brother.
Blanche LeHaye grinned broadly at the two women who were watching her so intently. "I think I ought to tell you," she began, "that I never was a minister's daughter, and I don't remember ever havin' been deserted by my sweetheart when I was young and trusting.
The souls they try to save know just enough to be wise to the fact that they couldn't hold down a five-per-week job. Don't you feel sorry for me. I'm doing the only thing I'm good for." Emma McChesney put out her hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "I only meant it for " "Why, of course," agreed Blanche LeHaye, heartily. "And you, too."
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