Life — December 4, 1913 — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

sad faces like mine. Now and then I get a few sous—just enough to keep everyone alive.” “ Pauvre chérie,” said Ninette, “why did you not come to me?—You don’t look a bit well, either,” she added. Nana shrugged her shoulders. “Consumption, so they say; and I would not care if it were not for the babies. But you, Ninette, are doing well? I tried to find you, but they told me you had gone from Montmartre and become famous. Is it so?” “Oui! Asses—I am as rich as I want to be—men lay their fortunes and their hearts at my feet. I remember, though, Nana, that I have starved, and that you used to share your bread and cheese with me. Now let me do the same, dear. I will give you lots of money, and soon you will be well again and happy.” A slow smile crept over Nana’s face and then faded away. “It is like you,” she said, “but—I do not think I want your money —” “Why not, child? I get more than I can ever spend— I shall not even miss it.” “Thanks, Ninette, but listen, I will be frank with you. I know they are hungry in the mansarde—the poor babies—but, still, I must remember that I promised at papa’s bedside never to touch a sow not honestly earned. Now, dear, could I take that money or not?” The faint red flush faded from Ninette’s cheeks. “ No,” she finally answered, with a shrug of her dainty shoulders. “No, I think you'd better not. True, I made money dancing, but what I had was spent ages ago. The next check does not come for weeks. You could not wait till then——"” and Ninette looked wistfully at the poor, tired girl beside her. All beauty had left the face she knew so well: the lips were white and pinched by hunger and cold, heavy rings under the eyes told of misery and disease. “Oh, Nana!” exclaimed the girl, a little tear in the corner of her eyelid. “Come, darling, let us go home; you need something to eat, and I must find a way of helping you—somehow.” While they went out of the Jardin des Tuileries people who met them wondered why so smart a woman should be escorting one so shabby; but, being Paris, people gave it a smile and passed on without another thought. Nana soon found herself in a cosy Pompadour boudoir, all silk and laces, with a maid demurely helping her out of her ragged coat. Then, before she could think anything out, a butler “en livrée” came carrying on a silver tray food such as never before she had tasted. Meanwhile Ninette, seated on a couch, was deep in thought. “Nana, ma chérie,” said she, when the girl came to thank her, “you must not do that; you want money— won't have mine, but we shall not quarrel over that—come, let us think it over—how can we carn money?” Nana shook her head sadly, “I don’t know, but let me go. I will try the organ again and perhaps now that I feel so much better I may be more successful.” Suddenly Ninette jumped to her feet clapping her hands together, “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I have it, Nana! Wait a bit. I shall dress you up a trifle better, and I will wear “each time saying, 993 also the costume of an Italian peasant girl. At the stroke of three we go out into the streets, you play the organ— I dance, till we have enough to enable you to live com- fortably for a while. We ought to do it easily—what do you say?” “Ninette, my Ninette, really you would do that for me? But what will the police say?—and the director of your theatre?” “* Petite sotte’! \We wink at the police, pull the ears of my director—the trick is done, and you will live happy ever after, as they do in the stories. Come and dress chérie, we must both look jolie. That's all one needs in Paris.” Ninette lost no time, and a short hour afterwards she was hardly recognizable in short red petticoat and skirt with a black velvet bolero laced tightly over her white blouse, and her big coral ear-rings reaching almost to the red necklace at her throat. The dancer looking on Nana arrayed in the same dress, chuckled aloud, “ You look just as you used to; now un sourire and let us go— to-night you shall be a millionaire!” The Commissaire of the police station was getting excited, people seemed to have crowded around something or someone and, though he had sent several sergents de ville, none, so far, had returned, and the crowd seemed greater every second. That was indeed a strange fact, and as he could not make out what was or had been the matter, he became more angry and excited as the moments went by and swore cheerfully to himself. After a while, dropping his cigar- ette on the desk, he jumped to his feet, and started for the door, “Ah! they will not move—they shall see now—I— obliged to do the work of a sergent de ville—they shalt all pay for it—all—I shall show no mercy for anyone!” Thus cursing he came to the edge of the crowd. “ Circules,” he screamed, lifting his white stick and tapping it on the nearest men, who hurriedly gave way. The high-pitched tone of an organ reached him. “Some of those con- founded Italians,” thought he. “ Wait, and when I get them—I—” But the words died on his lips, for he was now right in the front of the crowd facing Nana playing and Ninette dancing. Nana hesitated a second, but La Ninette went on with her dainty steps, decidedly winking at the newcomer, with a winning smile. The Com- missaire of police stood still, the crowd closed quickly on him, people craning their necks to see better. How long it lasted no one knew, but when Ninette stopped Monsieur Le Commissaire was the first to drop a gold piece in her tambourine. From the others “ sous,” “ francs,” and even golden “louis” followed. Often Nin- ette went back to empty her tambourine in Nana’s skirt, “Honestly carned—take this, cara Nana.” “Dance—dance—" shouted the crowd. “Encore ma folie.” Ninette smiled back and was about to start when a fussy old man came excitedly on the scene. “La Ninette!” he screamed. “ What are you doing here, danc- ing in the streets when you have a contract with me?” comicbooks.com