Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

308 she knew the inexorable horror of repulse. She was not a graceful loser. Creature of externals that she was, it was unavoidable that her worry should be reflected in her body. She felt a revulsion against the.soft and shapely flesh that had led her to this thwarted hope; she resented the gift of beauty that had robbed her of another talent. She conceived that God gives of His gifts singly, and blazed in impious resentment. Like some fanatic flagellant, she made her flesh do penance for its offenses. The judgment of Paris no longer carried conviction. Max Weisbaum was greatly concerned lest he lose Juno the Perfect Woman as a fleshly asset, just as she was bringing fame and fortune to him and his show. CHAPTER IV. A FALLEN IDOL. T was still early in the second season of her triumphs when the inescapable catas- trophe overtook Juno. Her once plump and rounded limbs were no longer plump; the petulant prettiness of her face was marred by lines of nervous morbidness; oftentimes a hollow and persis- tent cough disturbed the voluptuous de- lights of her mimic court. Occasionally an overbold critic indulged in sarcasm at the expense of the Perfect Woman. Then, too, a newcomer to the chorus ranks and one chosen for the trio from which Paris selected the most delectable was constantly winning a greater share of appreciative applause than Juno. Max Weisbaum was surlily fault-finding. He upbraided Juno repeatedly concerning the debt he conceived she owed him in re- turn for his part in her genesis and gen- eration. He was outspoken in his criticisms and threatening. He failed utterly to com- prehend the causes of her waning charms. “What’s eatin’ y’?” he complained. “Y’re gettin’ skinny an’ y’r knees are lumpy. The new kid in the chorus has got y’ beat for shape right now.” “ Can I get some symmetricals?”’ pleaded Juno. “Yeh. But y’ can’t pad y’r face. Y’ THE ARGOSY. look like the wrath o’ Gawd! Y’ better massage that phiz an’ rub some o’ them wrinkles out. Y’ ain’t in love, are y’?” ‘No, Max; nothing like that.” “Well, then, take a brace! Want me t’ put y’ in skirts like that reg’lar prima donna y’ went bugs ’bout?” “No, Max; that wouldn’t do no good.” “ An’ that cough y’ got! How ’d y’ get that?” ““ Maybe from bein’ more ’n half un- dressed in these theaters, with drafts blow- in’ everywhere.” ** Well, do something for it! like hell in the picture!” All right, Max; Tl try.” “Y’ better do more ’n try, or I’ll have to put a new Juno in y’r place, an’ then it’s back to the chorus for you. I done everything I can for y’, but I ain’t goin’ t’ let y’ put the show on the bum.” “I got a contract, Max.” “‘ Contract, hell! That was made to be broke! I’m tellin’ y’, y’ got to take a brace, or it’s the blue envelope for you!” Then the manager launched into a scathing and profane denunciation of the ingratitude that was about to rob him of his most profitable creation. It ended in down- right abuse. “ A hell of a Perfect Woman you are!”’ Juno halted his excoriation with some- thing of her old-time hauteur: “Lay off that line of talk, Max! It won’t get y’ nothing. Ill do the best I can; but I just don’t seem to care any more.”’ “Y’ better care if you want to ride on my tickets. I don’t carry no dead ones with me,” was the manager’s parting warning. Two weeks later while the company was making a long “ jump ” between mid-West “stands”? Juno’s malady reached a climax. She was tormented by fevers, racked by coughing, too ill to travel farther. Only some pharasaical charity had impelled Max Weisbaum to keep her with the show thus long. Grudgingly and aggrieved, the manager took steps to care for her with the least trouble to himself. Because the serious- ness of her condition became apparent dur- ing transportation between cities, and be- It sounds Gomichbooks (C@