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The grin faded from the other's face. His brows wrinkled, and he said: "I don't get you, friend. What can a man do?" "At least he can bow his heart; he can pay his tribute to womanhood." "You're too much for me," responded Rosythe. "The imbeciles choose to go through with it; it's their own choice." Said Carpenter: "You have never thought of it as the choice of God?"
And the leetle god with the golden arrow, the rosy cheeks and the leetle dimple the dimple that we make heem for two hundred dollars a piece eh, Meester Rosythe? He breengs the ladies to us!" The critic turned. "Madame Planchet, permit me to introduce Mr. Carpenter. He is a man of wonder, he heals pain, and does it by means of love." "Oh, how eenteresting!
Ve gotta have it in de right set; and ven you git a real mob, it don't alvays do vot you vant exactly! Besides, you can't take night pictures unless you got your lights and everyting. No, ve gotta make our mobs to order; we got two tousand fellers hired " "What Mr. Rosythe called 'studio bums'? You have that many?" "Sure, we could git ten tousand if de set vould hold 'em.
Silently we drew back from the door-way, and Madame closed the door, reducing the promethean groans and the strong ammoniacal odors. I did not see the face of Carpenter, because he had turned it from us. Rosythe favored me with a smile, and whispered, "Your friend doesn't care for beautee!"
Each pigeon-hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as "Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes," "Ireland,", "Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Channel," "Rosythe," and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans. "Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands.
Billy, wretched creature, I haven't laid eyes on you for two months! Do you have to desert me entirely, just because you've fallen in love with a society girl with the face of a Japanese doll-baby? What's the matter with me, that I lose my lovers faster than I get them? Edgerton Rosythe, come in here you've got a good excuse, I admit I'm almost as much scared of your wife as you are yourself.
The sheep gave a second bleat, and then a third, and Rosythe, red in the face and apparently choking, turned and fled to the corridor. Madame Planchet drew me apart and said: "Meester Billee, tell me something. Ees eet true that thees gentleman ees a healer? He takes away the pains?" "He did it for me," I answered. "He ees vairy handsome, eh, Meester Billee?" "Yes, that is true."
"I have to wait for the missus," said the critic. "We have a date." "Vell, said T-S, and he went up close. "You do me a favor, Rosythe; don't say nuttin' about dis fellow Carpenter tonight. I feed him and git him feelin' good, and den I make a contract vit him, and I give you a front page telegraph story, see?" "All right," said the critic.
But what eef love heemself ees pain who shall heal that, eh, Meester Carpentair?" "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!" came the moan. Said Rosythe: "Mr. Carpenter thinks you make the ladies suffer too much. It worries him." "Ah, but the ladies do not mind! Pain? What ees eet? The lady who makes the groans, she cannot move, and so she ees unhappy.
"I beg pardon?" said Carpenter. "Why er " said Rosythe; and stopped, completely bluffed. "You ought not swear," I remarked, gravely; and then, "I must explain. I got pounded by that mob; I was knocked quite silly, and this gentleman found me, and healed me in a wonderful way." "Oh!" said the critic, with genuine interest. "Mind cure, hey? What line?"
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