Beauty's a disadvantage even
there; too much beauty. Tell you what you could do, though, if ever you
_should_ want to earn money--go on the stage."
"Girl I knew," said Cadge, "made a pot of money going round to summer
resorts, giving women lessons, energizing and decomposing; kind of
Delsarte; said it made her 'most die--to see 'em rolling on the floor like
elephants, trying to get lean, and eating 'emselves fat four times a day,
with caramels between--and not be able to laugh. Might try the Barnard
girls. It can't be sure beauty to be up there; I've seen some of 'em. Say
now; that's not so bad--'How to be Helen; in Twenty Lessons.' Or say,
Princess; answer the great question: 'Does Soap Hurt the Skin?'"
She grinned. Cadge fancies, I suppose, that by any mail I may get a big
check from home.
"You display almost human intelligence," said Pros, admiringly; "stage's
better, though."
"But, Mr. Reid, that's too public."
"Inherited instinct; no more public than--than being a beauty." He gazed
at me with mild audacity,--"Money getting's prosaic, off the stage. Most
girls who want cash become tiddlety-wink typewriters at eight per; bargain
price; fully worth four.
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