The Drums of Jeopardy - Page 146/202

Kitty hung up her hat and coat. She did not pat her hair or tuck in the

loose ends before the mirror--a custom as invariable as sunrise. The

coat tree stood at the right of the single window, and out of this

window Kitty stared solemnly, at everything and at nothing.

Burlingame eyed her seriously. Cutty had given him a glimmer of the

tale--enough to make known to him that this pretty, sensible girl,

though no fault of her own, was in the shadow of some actual if unknown

danger. And Cutty wanted her out of town for a few days. Burlingame had

intended sending Kitty out of town on an assignment during Easter week.

An exchange of telegrams that morning had closed the gap in time.

"Well, you might say 'Good morning.'"

"I beg your pardon, Burly!" In newspaper offices you belong at once or

you never belong; and to belong is to have your name sheared to as

few syllables as possible. You are formal only to the city editor, the

managing editor, and the auditor.

"What's the matter?"

"I've been set in the middle of a fairy story," said Kitty, "and I'm

wondering if it's worth the trouble to try to find a way out. A Knight

of the Round Table, a prince of chivalry. What would you say if you saw

one in spats and a black derby?"

"Why," answered Burlingame, "I suppose I'd consider July first as the

best thing that could happen to me."

Kitty laughed; and that was what he wanted.

What had that old rogue been doing now--offering Kitty his

eighteen-story office building?

"It's odd, isn't it, that I shouldn't possess a little histrionic

ability. You'd think it would be in my blood to act."

"It is, Kitty; only not to mimic. You're an actress, but the Big

Dramatist writes your business for you. Now, I've got some fairly good

news for you. An assignment."

"Work! What is it?"

"I am going to send you on a visit to the most charming movie queen in

the business. She is going to return to Broadway this autumn, and she

has a trunkful of plays to read. I have found your judgment ace-high.

Mornings you will read with her; afternoons you will visit. She

remembers your mother, who was the best comedienne of her day. So she

will be quite as interested in you as you are in her. I want you to note

her ways, how she amuses herself, eats, exercises. I want you to note

the contents of her beautiful home; if she likes dogs or cats or horses.

You will take a camera and get half a dozen good pictures, and a page

yarn for Easter Sunday. Stay as long as she wants you to."