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Updated: June 2, 2025
When he died she reigned in his stead, recalling to her side as a favorite the prince who had purchased her when she was a captive. Alongside such a fantastic history, the rise of Kedzia Thropp was petty enough. It did not even compare with the rocket-flight of that Theodosia who danced naked in a vile theater in Byzantium and later became the empress of the great Justinian.
Kedzie Thropp, who had dome to New York only a few months before, had done one more impulsive thing. First she had run away from her parents. Now she had run away from herself. She had loved New York first. Now she was infatuated with Tommie Gilfoyle. He was as complex and mysterious a city as Manhattan. She would be as long in reaching the heart of him.
If Kedzie had been married to Gilfoyle and besought in marriage by another fellow of the same relative standard of income Mrs. Thropp could have waxed as indignant as anybody. If Kedzie's new suitor had earned as high as four thousand a year, which was a pile of money in Nimrim, she would still have raged against the immorality of tampering with the sacrament of marriage.
Thropp wondered what language he spoke, but he went; and a soft-hearted walrus in uniform sprawling across a lofty desk took down names and notes and minute descriptions of Kedzie and her costume. He told the two babes in the wood that such t'ings happened constant, and the goil would toin up in no time. He sent out a general alarm. Mrs.
Thropp broke into big sobs that jolted her sides and she fell over against Adna, who did not know how to comfort her. He held her in arms like a bear's and patted her with heavy paws, but she felt on her head the drip-drip of his tears.
When he was gone Mrs. Thropp beckoned Kedzie to sit by her on the chaise longue. She gathered her child up as some adoring old buzzard might cuddle her nestling and impart choice ideals of scavengery. "Look here, honey: you listen to your mother what loves you and knows what's best for you. You've struck out for yourself and you've won the grandest chance any girl ever had.
The name "Anita Adair" had meant nothing, of course, among her old neighbors, but everybody had known Kedzie's ways ever since first she had had ways. Her image had no sooner walked into her first scene than fellows who had kissed her, and girls who had been jealous of her, began to buzz. "Look, that's Kedzie." "For mercy's sake, Kedzie Thropp!" Yep, that's old Throppie."
If Anita Adair was Kedzie Thropp what would Lorraine Melnotte have been? It was a pretty problem in algebra. But Kedzie despised a man that would take another name. And such a name as unworthy of a man as a box of chocolate fudge. So the image of Mr. Melnotte fell out of the niche in her heart and went over into the gallery of her hates.
"It's perfectly awful," said Mrs. Thropp, "but bad luck can't go on forever." On April 2d the future Mrs. Strathdene was cheered by an extraordinary spectacle newspapers in the Metropolitan Opera House! Kedzie was there with her waning Marquess. The occasion was rare enough in itself, for an American opera was being heard: "The Canterbury Pilgrims," with Mr. Reginald De Koven's music to Mr.
"Two rooms one for the wife and m'self, one for the daughter." "Yes, sir. And about how much would you want to pay?" "How do they run?" "We can give you two nice adjoining rooms for twelve dollars up." Mr. Thropp made a hasty calculation. Twelve dollars a week for board and lodging was not so bad. He nodded.
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