Flora Campion of the Gazette, alias Hilda Harper of Lincke Brothers, announced herself and her errand at the Royal’s stage entrance. The aged doorman disappeared and returned shortly with the information that Mr. Starr was dressing. He would be with her in a few moments. The doorman sat down and “Miss Campion” stood up on legs that were acting crazy.
Three or four of Roman’s musicians came out, carrying their instruments in cases. They were in a hurry. And then Roman himself came out, and he was in a hurry, too.
“Were you waiting for me, little girl?”
Hilda managed a shaky “Yes.”
“Is it an interview? Because we’re going to do some recording this afternoon, and I’m late already. Is it something that can wait?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Hilda shakily. “Not very long.”
“Well, drop up to the Minuit tonight, or if you can’t do that, how about tomorrow morning? Come to my apartment at ten thirty or a quarter to eleven. Just tell my secretary who you are, and I’ll see you. Oke?”
“I don’t know where your apartment is.”
“Eight-ten Park. And now I’ve got to rush!”
Hilda watched him push his way through the crowd, mostly girls, that was waiting for a closeup. Then she staggered back to the office of the Lincke Brothers, who had granted her an extra half-hour off to go to the dentist, and took a score of letters that meant absolutely nothing to anybody.
“Mr. Lincke,” she said to one of the Mr. Linckes, “I hate to ask you, but the dentist wants me to come back tomorrow forenoon. He can finish up with me then, and I could be here by half past eleven or twelve, and I wouldn’t go out to lunch.”
“All right, all right,” said Mr. Lincke, trying to be gruff, but secretly pleased because it promised him a few hours’ freedom from dictating letters.
Hilda could not sleep a wink that night. Several times she wished she were rooming alone so she could switch on a light and read her clippings and memorize the few which she did not already know by heart. It might make quite a difference to Roman Starr to learn that she had memorized all his clippings.
From where Hilda lived to Eight-ten Park Avenue was about a mile and a half. If she walked, she would have a red nose, for it was cold. If she took a taxi, her clothes would get rumpled. Perhaps if she sat up perfectly straight in the taxi, she could keep her clothes smooth. Anyway it was harder to conceal a nose than a couple of wrinkles. She took a taxi.
The taxi covered the mile and a half in under four minutes. When she got out, it was only ten minutes after ten. This would never do. She walked a few blocks away and back again, and she had a red nose as well as a couple of wrinkles, and still it was only twenty minutes after. What was the matter with time today?
A tall man in uniform asked whether she had an appointment. She told him “Yes.”
“What name?” he said.
“Flora. I mean I’m Flora Campion from the Gazette. Mr. Starr said I was just to let his secretary know I was here.”
“Mr. Starr’s secretary isn’t up there. I seen him go out five, ten minutes ago. But if you got an appointment, I guess it’s all right.”
The elevator boy discharged his passenger at the proper floor. It was unnecessary for him to point out Mr. Starr’s apartment. The secretary had left the door open, and Mr. Starr was doing his daily dozen arpeggios.
For a moment Hilda stood outside the door, listening. Then she yielded to temptation and went in.
She found herself in a small reception hall. The living-room with its grand piano was in plain sight. But the arpeggios came from another room beyond. Hilda ventured a few feet farther and sat down on the piano bench.
“O‑o‑o‑O‑o‑o‑O.”
How beautiful his voice was, just singing O’s!
Then, from still another room, came the sound of another voice not so beautiful, a voice that was rough, raucous, and unmistakably female. “Hey! Hey, Gus!” it bawled.
The arpeggios ceased.
“Did you finally wake up?” said Roman Starr.
“Well, I wouldn’t be awake if there was a chance to sleep. If you’ve got to yodel at this time in the morning, why don’t you go in the living-room and shut the door?”
“Why don’t you sleep nights?”
“I slept all right till you burst in, but it wasn’t long enough. I know one thing—the next artist I marry will be a fella that can doze off without making me homesick for the Ninth Avenue Elevated. They call you a tenor, but if you could stay asleep all the while, Gatti-Cazoozis would have you doubling for Chaliapin’s grandfather. Aren’t you through breakfast yet?”
“Pretty near. She’s bringing me more toast.”
“Wasn’t there enough to soak up all the coffee? Where is Bennett?”
“I had to send him for Newman’s lyric, for the canoe number. I forgot it last night.”
“I thought you were going to break it in to day.”
“I am. I won’t have any trouble. It’s practically the same as ‘Pacific Moon,’ and Ketter’s rewritten his bride melody.”
There was a brief pause and then, “Say, you big bum, didn’t I tell you not to use my stockings for a shoe cloth?”
“I thought they were soiled.”
“They are now!”
Hilda, having got noiselessly out of the apartment and reached the street, knew she would have to do something desperate. She had no idea how to go about it to buy poison, or where to buy a drink.
She had never smoked a cigarette in her life. She went
