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Updated: June 10, 2025
He began to wonder what, after all, poor Gilfoyle had experienced from this hard-hearted little beauty. He saw that he was almost forgotten already. He thought, "How fast they go, the dead!" That same Villon had said it centuries before: "Les morts vont vites." The Thropps settled down to a comfortable discussion of future plans. One ledger had been finished. They would open a new one.
The toothpicks had to be asked for. All three Thropps wanted them. While Thropp was fishing in his pocket for a quarter, and finding only half a dollar which he did not want to reveal, the waiter placed before him a closely written manuscript, face down, with a lead-pencil on top of it. "What's this?" said Thropp. "Will you please to sign your name and room number, sir?" the waiter suggested.
There was room enough for a dozen Thropps in the big house, but he doubted if there were room in his mother's heart for three Thropps at a time, or for the elder Thropps at any time. After all, his mother had some rights. He protected them by lying glibly. "My mother sent you her compliments, Mrs. Thropp, and said she would call on you as soon as she could. She's very busy, you know as I told you.
But once the Thropps had gloated they were anxious to get back again to the flesh-pots of New York. The financing of the old couple was embarrassing. It did not look right to Kedzie to have the father and mother of Mrs.
The two old Thropps stood staring at each other and the unfathomable New York, while the impatient chauffeurs squawked their horns in angry protest, and train-missers with important errands thrust their heads out of cab windows. The officer led his bewildered charges to the sidewalk, motioned the traffic to proceed, and beckoned to a patrolman.
While the Thropps had been watching their daughter disport before them in a little dark room in Missouri, and other people in numbers of other cities were seeing her in duplicate, she herself was in none of the places, but in her own room with Jim Dyckman paying court to her.
This vivid, smiling, weeping, dancing, sobbing Kedzie was only a vibration rebounding from a screen. Perhaps that is all any of us are. One thing was certain: the Thropps determined to redeem their lost lamb as soon as they could get to New York. Their lost lamb was gamboling in blessed pastures.
They gave the dialogue of the Thropps in many versions, all emphasizing what is known as "the human note." Every one of them gave due emphasis to the historic fact that Kedzie Thropp had been spanked. The boarding-house was shaken from attic to basement by the news. The Thropps read the papers. They were astounded and enraged at gaining publicity for such a deed.
But on this immortal evening people were torn between a frenzy to watch Kedzie go by again and a frenzy to run and get Mr. and Mrs. Thropp. A veritable Greek chorus ran and got the Thropps, and lost their seats. There was no room for the Thropps to get in. If the manager had not thrown out a few children and squeezed the parents through the crowd they would have lost the view.
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