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As to Gyp Labelle, if she had known the part she played in their lives, which in the nature of things was not possible, she would have broken into that famous laugh of hers. To her, at any rate, it would have seemed immensely, excruciatingly funny. As the result of an exchange of two remarkably casual notes they met at Brown's for dinner.
Among the women who worked for woman suffrage in addition to those mentioned in the chapter were Mesdames Margaret Cartright, S. F. Culberson, George W. Carr, Josie Lockard, J. R. Kinyon, H. F. LaBelle, N. J. Strumquist, Margaret Medler, William J. Barker, Lansing Bloom, C. E. Mason, R. P. Donahoe, Ruth Skeen, John W. Wilson, S. C. Nutter, Catherine Patterson, Minnie Byrd, Howard Huey, Alfred Grunsfeld, Edgar L. Hewett, I. H. Elliot and I. H. Rapp.
C'est drole every time I 'ear it played I want to get up and dance and dance " She hummed under her breath, beating time with her cigarette. "I'm Gyp Labelle; If you dance with me. . . ." Obviously she knew that the severely elegant men and women on either hand watched her with a covert, chilly hostility. But there was something oddly simple in her acceptance of their attitude.
"You didn't think so by the time she'd finished with you." "I was an ass. A giddy, hysterical ass. I didn't understand. Poor old Connie! She could just swim for herself but not for both of us. And I scared her stiff tying myself round her neck like that." Stonehouse cut him short. "Nobody could accuse Mademoiselle Labelle of being a poor swimmer," he said. He was so intently conscious of her.
As, for instance, that woman in the hospital Frances Wilmot's protegee. Queer how the memory of that ruined, frightened face peering over the bed-clothes and begging for life should come back to him after eight years. And yet the connexion was obvious enough. He looked at Mademoiselle Labelle with a new interest.
It made him sick, and he brushed it out of his consciousness. He did not see the poor attempts to make it decent and attractive the bed disguised beneath a faded Liberty cretonne, a sentimental Christ hanging between a galaxy of matinee heroes, nor a full-length woman's portrait, across which was scrawled "Gyp Labelle" in letters large enough to conceal half of her outrageous nakedness.
Its values, which he had learnt to judge coldly and dispassionately, weighing one against another, were shifting like sand. He seemed to stand, naked and alone, in a changing, terrifying world. In those days the papers in their frivolous columns, were full of Gyp Labelle. Her press-agent was working frenziedly.
When we found that big muscle bruise on your side, and she told us that you had been tossed by a bull a couple of days ago, we didn't wonder you keeled over." Jim sat up dizzily. "It was mighty good of you people to take us in for the night," he said. "Who is Ma Billings?" "Marie LaBelle she used to be; worked up on the flyin' rings until she got too hefty," his companion explained.
His attention fixed itself on the illuminated sign that hung from the portico of the Olympic Theatre opposite, and mechanically he began to spell out the flaming letters: "Gyp Labelle Gyp Labelle!" At first the name scarcely reached his consciousness, but in some strange way it focused his disquiet.
F. J. Deguise, Vicar General, Varennes. J. B. Bedard, St. Denis. R. O. Brunsau, Vercheres. F. Portier, Terrebonne. P. D. Ricard, Berthier. L. Gague, Lachenaie. Joseph Belanger, Chambly. M. Blanchet, St. Charles. P. M. Mignault, Chambly. F. Labelle, L'Assumption. F. Marcoux, St. Barthelemi. N. L. Amiot, Repentigny. J. B. Boucher, Chambly. P. Lafranc, St. Jean Baptiste. P. Robitaille, Monnie.
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