Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

\ THE SONG OF THE SWAN. ‘ All right,”’ assented Polly, unconcerned- ly omitting any thanks for her promotion. It was inevitable that male admirers should seek monopoly of Polly’s fascina- tions. They came and went without leaving any visible impress on her life. She ac- cepted and -frankly sought male compan- ions much as the other girls of the chorus did, always as a part of her program of expediency. On the credit side of her ac- counts she wrote down the dinners and small gifts she extracted from the men who met , her at the stage door, and who paid willingly until they discovered the futility of their campaigns; the debit side of the ledger she left blank, for she paid nothing in return except the grace of her presence. These acquaintances were brief and soon forgotten, It was unlikely that any one man should twice seek her company. In her confused estimate of human relations possible sincerity of affections counted for naught. She could conceive of no love that was not selfish, and a lover who came prof- fering his tenderness in all good honor was classed with her potential enemies, much as they who came with robber hands. Polly’s heart was unstirred either by pas- sion or inclination, She was an anomaly among women, possessing all the requisites to win high regard for herself, but carelessly spurning that regard. During her second season in the chorus a sudden shift in road managers of- the only moderately successful show she was with sent Max Weisbaum to the helm of that theatrical craft. Max was an oppor- tunist, vulpine, arrogant, selfish, concerned only in the welfare of two orders, primarily his own, and secondly, that of his employ- ers. He combined to a remarkable degree the qualifications of a successful burlesque executive. | The day that Max joined the show he was keenly alert for opportunities. His mind was receptive to suggestions, and he was determined to make a record that would gain for him prestige with his employers. He was also overwatchful for some adven- titious happening that might allow him to better his private fortunes. Max was con- stantly on the trail of the main chance. 8 Arcosy 303 Then Max saw Polly. Much as Botticelli saw Simonetta and estimated her procreant charms, so Max, from equally artistic motives, weighed and accepted to his uses the rare curves of Polly. His beady eyes opened wide, then nar- rowed to speculative slits. His full-lipped mouth pursed to emit an admiring whistle. ‘““Who’s the Jane with the shape in the front row?” he asked of the stage carpen- ter. | The carpenter returned an answering identification and threw in the gratuitous information that Max might better waste his time in some other quarter than to at- tempt to penetrate the chill armor of Polly’s capable aloofness, ‘‘ Some shape!”’ exclaimed the new agent. Then he walked over to the object of his admiration, confident from past experiences that his reception would be cordial. The friendship of a manager is a very desirable addition to a chorus girl’s assets. “Lo, kid,” he said. “I’m your new daddy. Goin’ t’ be nice t’ y’r papa, ain’t yr? The abruptness of his approach and his assumption of impropriation held no novel- ty for Polly. She had met managers be- fore. Positions and rank held no awe for her. ‘* Pickin’ kind o’ soon, ain’t y’?” she-cool- ly replied, thus interpreting the manager’s intention and disarming him of any subtlety with one question. ‘“ Y’ better shop round a little,” she continued; ‘ they’s other ‘Il suit y’r style better ’n me. And I’ve heard folks say before they liked my looks, so y’ needn’t waste breath, ’cause I guess y’r line of talk’s limited to just about that kind of a remark.” “Gawd! You're hard, ain’t you?” sneered Max. “‘ One of them wise ones! Well, y’re too previous, altogether. Maybe I can show you where it ‘ll pay y’ t’ be nice t? me. What about it then? I gota big idea, an’ y’re part of it.” “Talk business and you’ll interest me. Spill what y’ got on,y’r mind, an’ make it quick and worth listenin’ to,” said Polly with a slight shade of interest. ‘TD’ y’ treat ’em all as hard as that?” insultingly laughed Max. Gomicbook (C@