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Updated: June 15, 2025
Swiftly Emma McChesney crossed the room and closed the door. Then she came back to where Blanche LeHaye stood. "Now listen to me," she said. "You shed that purple kimono of yours and hustle into some clothes and come along with me. I mean it. Whenever I'm anywhere near this town I make a jump and Sunday here.
When the 'bus lurched past them the woman who had screamed the oath after Blanche LeHaye laughed shrilly and made a face, like a naughty child, whereupon the others laughed in falsetto chorus. A touch of real color showed in Blanche LeHaye's flabby cheek. "I'll show'm she snarled. That hussy of a Zella Dacre thinkin' she can get my part away from me the last week or so, the lyin' sneak.
"Me!" said the green-gold blonde, and laughed not prettily. "I ain't a woman. I'm a queen of burlesque. "Burlesque? You mean one of those " Emma McChesney stopped, her usually deft tongue floundering. "One of those 'men only' troupes? You guessed it. I'm Blanche LeHaye, of the Sam Levin Crackerjack Belles.
Only an Ethel Morrissey, inured to the weird workings of humanity by years of shrewd skirt and suit buying, could have stood the test of having a Blanche LeHaye thrust upon her, an unexpected guest, and with the woman across the street sitting on her front porch taking it all in. At the door "This is Miss Blanche LeHaye of the er Simon " "Sam Levin Crackerjack Belles," put in Miss LeHaye.
That Dacre's got the nerve to swipe the star's dressing-room if I don't get my trunks in first." They walked with her to the front porch, making talk as they went. Resentment and discomfiture and a sort of admiration all played across the faces of the two women, whose kindness had met with rebuff. At the foot of the steps Blanche LeHaye, prima donna of the Sam Levin Crackerjack Belles turned.
Her eyes narrowed, and she laughed shortly. "Oh, I dunno," drawled Blanche LeHaye. "I wouldn't go's far's that, kid. Say, when I was your age I didn't plan to be no bum burlesquer neither. I was going to be an actress, with a farm on Long Island, like the rest of 'em. Every real actress has got a farm on Long Island, if it's only there in the mind of the press agent.
Why, last summer I had it from the clerk of the hotel in that town that she ran around all day with a woman named LeHaye Blanche LeHaye, of an aggregation of bum burlesquers called the Sam Levin Crackerjack Belles. And say, for a whole month there, she had a tough young kid traveling with her that she called her son. Oh, she's queering your line, all right.
"Pleased to meet you." "Come in," said Miss Ethel Morrissey without batting an eye. "I just 'phoned the hotel. Thought you'd gone back on me, Emma. I'm baking a caramel cake. Don't slam the door. This your first visit here, Miss LeHaye? Excuse me for not shaking hands. I'm all flour. Lay your things in there. Ma's spending the day with Aunt Gus at Forest City and I'm the whole works around here.
She shed her rings, and pinned her hair back from her forehead, and tucked up her sleeves, and as Emma McChesney watched her a resolve grew in her mind. The cake disposed of "Give me some potatoes to peel, will you?" said Blanche LeHaye, suddenly. "Give 'em to me in a brown crock, with a chip out of the side. There's certain things always goes hand-in-hand in your mind.
When she caught the eyes of either of the other women her own glance dropped. When Ethel Morrissey came in with the blue-and-white gingham aprons Blanche LeHaye hesitated a long minute before picking hers up. Then she held it by both sleeves and looked at it long, and curiously. When she looked up again she found the eyes of the other two upon her.
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