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Updated: May 13, 2025
Lemme there," said Freddy, stepping behind Madame d'Avala. "Say, you've got it all started wrong." He attacked the stubborn hooks with light, deft fingers. "Why, you can really do it!" cried Madame d'Avala. "Sure! This ain't nothin'." Freddy's fingers flew. "Careful of that drapery. It's tricky." "Say, drapery's pie to me. I fastened up lots harder dresses than this." "Really?" "Sure!
Suddenly the great Margarita d'Avala caught him in her arms and drew him to that warm, beautiful breast where no child's head had ever rested. "Oh, Freddy, Freddy!" she cried. "You are right, and I must have you!" "You kin, s' long's Florette's away," said Freddy. By SOPHIE KERR From Saturday Evening Post
For us there must be dancing in the valley, laughter and roses, perfume and sunshine always sunshine." "Oh er yes," replied Miss Nellie, taken aback by this effusiveness, which she could only explain as being foreign. "It's 8:30," said Miss Eva, looking at her watch. "Ah, then I must fly," cried Madame d'Avala. "Goo'-bye!" said Freddy wistfully.
So Freddy told her all about his mother, and about the good fortune that had come to her. "Fifty-two weeks solid! Some ac' to get that kinda bookin, huh?" he ended. "Yes! Oh, yes, indeed!" "There y'ah now! Look at youse'f! See if it's a'right." Madame d'Avala turned to the mirror. Her gown fell in serene, lovely folds. It seemed incredible that it was the little demon of a few minutes before.
"He really is a very queer-lookin' sort of person, ma'am. I wouldn't know exactly where to place him. Shall I say you are out, ma'am?" "Yes," said Miss Eva. "No doubt he wants to sell an encyclopedia." "No, let him come in," said Miss Nellie. "It might be a reporter about Madame d'Avala," she added, turning to her sister. "Sometimes they look queer."
"Perfect! Freddy, you're a wonder. How can I thank you?" "Tha's a'right. You're welcome." He was regarding her with worshipful eyes. "You're awful pretty," he breathed. "Thank you," said Madame d'Avala. "Are you coming to my concert?" "No, they put us to bed!" cried Freddy in disgust. "Puttin' me to bed at 8:30 every night! What-ta y' know about that!
Gee, Florette wouldn't wear their clo'es to a dog fight!" "Nor I," said Madame d'Avala; "I love dogs." "I tole Miss Eva she ought to put peroxide in the rinsin' water for her hair like Florette useter, but it made her mad. I b'lieve in a woman fixin' herself up all she can, don't you?" asked Freddy earnestly. "Indeed, I do! But tell me, who is Florette?"
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Madame d'Avala screamed aloud, stamping her feet up and down as fast as they could go. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Damn! Damn! Damn!" She did not swear in Italian, because she was not an Italian except by profession. Her name had been Maggie Davis, but that was a secret between herself and her press agent. "Oh! Damn!" screamed Madame d'Avala again.
Madame Margarita d'Avala found herself in a situation all the more annoying because it was so absurd. She had promised to sing at the Misses Blair's School for the benefit of a popular charity, and she had motored out from New York, leaving her maid to do some errands and to follow by train.
"Ain't it hell?" remarked an interested voice, and Madame d'Avala saw a small pale face staring at her through the door which she had left ajar. "Come in!" she ordered, and a small thin boy entered, quite unabashed, looking at her with an air of complete understanding. "Who are you?" asked Madame d'Avala. "Freddy." "Well, Freddy, run at once and find a maid for me, please.
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