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Updated: May 2, 2025
There was a dearth of big local news also. So the morning papers all gave Kedzie Thropp the hospitality of their head-lines. The illustrated journals published what they said was her photograph. No two of the photographs were alike, but they were all pretty. The copy-writers loved the details of the event.
She horrified the porter by calling him "Mister" almost as much as her parents scandalized him the next day by eating their meals out of a filing-cabinet of shoe-boxes compiled by Mrs. Thropp. But it was all picnic to Kedzie. Fortunately for her repose, she never knew that there was a dining-car attached. The ordeal of a night in a sleeping-car coffin was to Kedzie an experience of faery.
Your last name is Thropp, but your first name is Nothing rhymed with Kedzie. He gave her residence as New York and her occupation as "none." "What is your father's first name, honey?" he said, a little startled to realize how little he knew of her or her past. She had learned much news of him, too, in hearing his own answers.
Sometimes as she took her hands out of the dough and dried them on her apron to fasten his sash about him, she felt all the glory of a medieval countess buckling the armor on her doughty earl. She had never heard of such persons, but she knew their epic uplift. Now, Mr. Thropp had paid his dues and his insurance premiums for years and years. They were his one extravagance.
There would be less risk of Dyckman's hearing about it. She shuddered at what she would have to tell him unless she kept the divorce secret. He might not love her if he knew she was not the nice new girl he thought her, but an old married woman. And what would he say when he found that her real name was Mrs. Thomas Gilfoyle nee Kedzie Thropp?
Thropp went on: "You got a chance to look like me and live hard and die poor, and that's what'll happen if you stick by this low-life, good-for-nothing dawg you married. Don't do it. Money's come your way. Grab it quick. Hold on to it tight. Money's the one thing that counts. You take my word for it. It don't matter much how you get it; the main thing is Get it!
He rather gave the impression that he was at least a third vice-president, but very modest about it. Mrs. Thropp gleaned from the first words that Kedzie had gone contrary to her advice and had told Dyckman the truth. She took the credit calmly.
Magruder was terribly kind to me when I was alone and friendless in New York." Mrs. Thropp had outgrown waiters and even Adna regretted the reversion to Nimrim that led him to shake hands and say, "Please to meecher."
While he gave his hat and stick to the maid and peeled off his gloves Kedzie was whispering: "It's Jim." Mrs. Thropp struggled to her feet. "He mustn't find me here," she said. "Don't tell him about us." But before she could escape Dyckman was in the doorway, almost too tall to walk through it, almost as tall as twenty million dollars. To Mrs.
While Charity was resolving to tear down her life Kedzie Thropp was building herself a new one on the foundations that Charity had laid for her with a card of introduction to Miss Havender. In the motion-picture world Kedzie had found herself. Her very limitations were to her advantage. She would have failed dismally in the spoken drama, but the flowing photograma was just to her measure.
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