Part 51

"How's everything, Ardelia?"

"All right, Miss. Eberything is all right. We got 'long fine together, the Perfessor and me. We des went about forgettin' eberyting and habin' a mighty comfortable time. Did you all have a good time on your honeymoon?"

"Fine," said Bambi. "We brought you some presents, that will make your eyes ache, and, 'Delia, we're famished."

"Dog's foot! Heah I stan' a-gassin' and a-talkin' and you all hungry as wolfses." She hurried off, muttering.

Jarvis and Bambi sat down.

"Isn't there something you want to tell me? I can't just remember what you went to New York for?"

"We went to sell my play," Jarvis prompted.

"To be sure. It had escaped me for a moment. Were you successful?"

"We were not."

"Oh, Jarvis, how can you say that? We don't know yet. Belasco is considering it."

"What is this Belasco?"

Bambi looked at Jarvis, and they both laughed.

"Isn't he refreshing?" she remarked. "I've thought for two weeks in terms of managers. They fill the universe. They are the gods. Their nod is life or death, and now my nearest relative says, 'What is Belasco?'"

"It's a sort of meat sauce, isn't it?"

Consternation on both their faces, then an outburst from Bambi.

"No, no! That's tabasco, you dear, blessed innocent."

"Belasco is one of the leading managers in New York, Professor," explained Jarvis, patiently. "He is as well known as Pierpont Morgan or Theodore Roosevelt."

"Indeed! Well, I am not surprised at my ignorance. I have no interest in present-day drama. It is degenerate mush."

"Have you seen anything, since 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?" Jarvis inquired.

"I have seen 'The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,'" he replied conclusively.

"That was considered strong meat in its day, but now we have 'Damaged Goods,'" mused Jarvis.

"And what are 'Damaged Goods'?" inquired the Professor.

"What are Yonkers? Don't tell him, Jarvis--he's too young to know. It's an ugly modern play. We saw some things you might have enjoyed. Oh, I often wished for you."

"Thank you, my dear, but I have no desire to enter that cauldron of humanity."

"I agree with you, Professor Parkhurst."

"That is a rare occurrence, I may say," answered the Professor, with a twinkle.

"Thank goodness, you have me to prod you into life. You would both sit in your dens and figure and write until you blinked like owls in the night. I have stored up energy enough, from these two weeks in the cauldron, to run me for months. I didn't miss one thing, ugly or beautiful. I shall use it all."

"Use it? How use it, my dear?"