“What did she say,” he said abstractedly. “What did she say? Why she said—she said she’d turn down a Drama League luncheon and go right out in the kitchen and slip into a gingham apron, and believe me if you knew how much she thinks of the Drama League, you’d know that was some concession.”
E. Cartwright hadn’t seen them yet. He was apparently almost oblivious of his surroundings as he walked slowly towards Miss Slosson.
“I realize that,” the pie editor was saying. “She has a great, big, generous nature, I’m sure and to think of her being so domesticated, too. Oh, Mr. Martin, I suppose you know Mr. Jenkins, our dramatic editor. He’s kindly volunteered to help me in the closing hours of the contest.”
Jimmy straightened up and assumed his most ingratiating smile. He had met the distinguished critic only once, several years before, and he was fairly certain that he would not be remembered.
“I had the honor of an introduction several seasons ago,” he said suavely, “but it is possible that Mr. Jenkins does not recall me.”
E. Cartwright had given an unconscious start at the sound of the name “Martin,” but he seemed to have no conscious knowledge of Jimmy’s identity. He smiled sadly.
“I don’t seem to place you,” he remarked with a woebegone attempt at civility.
“Mr. Martin is Madame Stephano’s advance manager,” broke in Miss Slosson. “The dear madame has entered a pie in our little contest through him.”
Mr. Jenkins’ facial aspect underwent an instantaneous change. He narrowed his eyes and corrugated his brows and gave other external indications of rapidly mounting wrath. Also his cheeks paled, and it may be further stated that his rather gangling frame became suddenly taut and vibrant. He eyed Jimmy for fully ten seconds and then turned to Miss Slosson.
“It is my duty to inform you, madame,” he said in a voice that was tense with emotion, “that this person is a press agent who will use you for his own selfish ends—a paid hireling of an unscrupulous management which has only one purpose in mind—deceit and rank trickery.”
Jimmy started to expostulate, but Tom Wilson gave him a vicious elbow jab which effectively cut off any utterance on his part. Miss Slosson smiled serenely.
“Don’t be too hard on him, dear Mr. Jenkins,” she remonstrated. “He has been a great help in our effort to raise the general tone of culinary excellence. He represents a most estimable lady, and if she gets a little publicity out of it she deserves it after all the trouble she has gone to—baking a pie with her own hands and sending it on here all the way from Chicago. We mustn’t be too selfish.”