It seemed to Sally in the weeks that followed her reunion with GingerKemp that a sort of golden age had set in. On all the frontiers of herlittle kingdom there was peace and prosperity, and she woke each morningin a world so neatly smoothed and ironed out that the most captiouspessimist could hardly have found anything in it to criticize.
True, Gerald was still a thousand miles away. Going to Chicago tosuperintend the opening of "The Primrose Way"; for Fillmore had accededto his friend Ike's suggestion in the matter of producing it first inChicago, and he had been called in by a distracted manager to revise thework of a brother dramatist, whose comedy was in difficulties at one ofthe theatres in that city; and this meant he would have to remain onthe spot for some time to come. It was disappointing, for Sally had beenlooking forward to having him back in New York in a few days; but sherefused to allow herself to be depressed. Life as a whole was muchtoo satisfactory for that. Life indeed, in every other respect, seemedperfect. Fillmore was going strong; Ginger was off her conscience; shehad found an apartment; her new hat suited her; and "The Primrose Way"was a tremendous success. Chicago, it appeared from Fillmore's account,was paying little attention to anything except "The Primrose Way."National problems had ceased to interest the citizens. Local problemsleft them cold. Their minds were riveted to the exclusion of all elseon the problem of how to secure seats. The production of the piece,according to Fillmore, had been the most terrific experience that hadcome to stir Chicago since the great fire.
Of all these satisfactory happenings, the most satisfactory, to Sally'sthinking, was the fact that the problem of Ginger's future had beensolved. Ginger had entered the service of the Fillmore NicholasTheatrical Enterprises Ltd. (Managing Director, FillmoreNicholas)--Fillmore would have made the title longer, only that was allthat would go on the brass plate--and was to be found daily in the outeroffice, his duties consisting mainly, it seemed, in reading the eveningpapers. What exactly he was, even Ginger hardly knew. Sometimes he feltlike the man at the wheel, sometimes like a glorified office boy, andnot so very glorified at that. For the most part he had to prevent themob rushing and getting at Fillmore, who sat in semi-regal state in theinner office pondering great schemes.
But, though there might be an occasional passing uncertainty in Ginger'smind as to just what he was supposed to be doing in exchange for thefifty dollars he drew every Friday, there was nothing uncertain abouthis gratitude to Sally for having pulled the strings and enabled him todo it. He tried to thank her every time they met, and nowadays theywere meeting frequently; for Ginger was helping her to furnish her newapartment. In this task, he spared no efforts. He said that it kept himin condition.
"And what I mean to say is," said Ginger, pausing in the act of carryinga massive easy chair to the third spot which Sally had selected in thelast ten minutes, "if I didn't sweat about a bit and help you after theway you got me that job..."
"Ginger, desist," said Sally.
"Yes, but honestly..."
"If you don't stop it, I'll make you move that chair into the nextroom."
"Shall I?" Ginger rubbed his blistered hands and took a new grip."Anything you say."
"Silly! Of course not. The only other rooms are my bedroom, the bathroomand the kitchen. What on earth would I want a great lumbering chair inthem for? All the same, I believe the first we chose was the best."
"Back she goes, then, what?"
Sally reflected frowningly. This business of setting up house wascausing her much thought.
"No," she decided. "By the window is better." She looked at himremorsefully. "I'm giving you a lot of trouble."
"Trouble!" Ginger, accompanied by a chair, staggered across the room."The way I look at it is this." He wiped a bead of perspiration from hisfreckled forehead. "You got me that job, and..."
"Stop!"
"Right ho... Still, you did, you know."
Sally sat down in the armchair and stretched herself. Watching Gingerwork had given her a vicarious fatigue. She surveyed the room proudly.It was certainly beginning to look cosy. The pictures were up, thecarpet down, the furniture very neatly in order. For almost the firsttime in her life she had the restful sensation of being at home. She hadalways longed, during the past three years of boarding-house existence,for a settled abode, a place where she could lock the door on herselfand be alone. The apartment was small, but it was undeniably a haven.She looked about her and could see no flaw in it... except... She had asudden sense of something missing.
"Hullo!" she said. "Where's that photograph of me? I'm sure I put it onthe mantelpiece yesterday."
His exertions seemed to have brought the blood to Ginger's face. He wasa rich red. He inspected the mantelpiece narrowly.
"No. No photograph here."
"I know there isn't. But it was there yesterday. Or was it? I know Imeant to put it there. Perhaps I forgot. It's the most beautiful thingyou ever saw. Not a bit like me; but what of that? They touch 'em up inthe dark-room, you know. I value it because it looks the way I shouldlike to look if I could."
"I've never had a beautiful photograph taken of myself," said Ginger,solemnly, with gentle regret.
"Cheer up!"
"Oh, I don't mind. I only mentioned..."
"Ginger," said Sally, "pardon my interrupting your remarks, which I knoware valuable, but this chair is--not--right! It ought to be where it wasat the beginning. Could you give your imitation of a pack-mule justonce more? And after that I'll make you some tea. If there's any tea--ormilk--or cups."
"There are cups all right. I know, because I smashed two the day beforeyesterday. I'll nip round the corner for some milk, shall I?"
"Yes, please nip. All this hard work has taken it out of me terribly."
Over the tea-table Sally became inquisitive.
"What I can't understand about this job of yours. Ginger--which as youare just about to observe, I was noble enough to secure for you--is theamount of leisure that seems to go with it. How is it that you are ableto spend your valuable time--Fillmore's valuable time, rather--jugglingwith my furniture every day?"
"Oh, I can usually get off."
"But oughtn't you to be at your post doing--whatever it is you do? Whatdo you do?"
Ginger stirred his tea thoughtfully and gave his mind to the question.
"Well, I sort of mess about, you know." He pondered. "I interview diversblighters and tell 'em your brother is out and take their names andaddresses and... oh, all that sort of thing."
"Does Fillmore consult you much?"
"He lets me read some of the plays that are sent in. Awful tosh most ofthem. Sometimes he sends me off to a vaudeville house of an evening."
"As a treat?"
"To see some special act, you know. To report on it. In case he mightwant to use it for this revue of his."
"Which revue?"
"Didn't you know he was going to put on a revue? Oh, rather. A whackingbig affair. Going to cut out the Follies and all that sort of thing."
"But--my goodness!" Sally was alarmed. It was just like Fillmore, shefelt, to go branching out into these expensive schemes when he ought tobe moving warily and trying to consolidate the small success he had had.All his life he had thought in millions where the prudent man would havebeen content with hundreds. An inexhaustible fount of optimism bubbledeternally within him. "That's rather ambitious," she said.
"Yes. Ambitious sort of cove, your brother. Quite the Napoleon."
"I shall have to talk to him," said Sally decidedly. She was annoyedwith Fillmore. Everything had been going so beautifully, with everybodypeaceful and happy and prosperous and no anxiety anywhere, till he hadspoiled things. Now she would have to start worrying again.
"Of course," argued Ginger, "there's money in revues. Over in Londonfellows make pots out of them."
Sally shook her head.
"It won't do," she said. "And I'll tell you another thing that won't do.This armchair. Of course it ought to be over by the window. You can seethat yourself, can't you."
/> "Absolutely!" said Ginger, patiently preparing for action once more.
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