"That's enough," shouted Bacon. "Any more of it and I'll blow my brains out."
Funny remark for Bacon to make, but Minnie had given up trying to understand the men in the picture business.
"Rotten cruelty," said Deane, lowering his voice so Minnie couldn't overhear. "I can't get any pleasure out of it. I'd just as lief stand before a caged animal and poke sticks at it. Same principle."
"The hell it is," exploded Bacon, "animals are sensitive. Look at these creatures. The more you make fun of them the more you compliment them. I haven't had a laugh like this for a week. I tell you, the girl's a moron."
Minnie was parading before them, waving her fan as she walked with a quaint, undulating swing of her hips. She had grown so used to the low-necked, long-trained evening gown that she was no longer conscious of it. She held her chin up and arched her eyebrows as all ladies do (according to Eleanor). Her heart was now pumping in steady, rhythmic beats. The excitement was over. She had had her chance and there wasn't a doubt that she had succeeded.
"What's the name of that girl, Letcher?" Deane had turned his back on Bacon.
"Her!" exclaimed Letcher incredulously, pointing a fat finger at Minnie.
"Yes, quite an unusual type, isn't she?"
"Solid ivory from the neck up," said Letcher, cued by Bacon's expression of disgust. "Name is Mineola Flynn."
"I've just been sizing her up. Darn good figure, hasn't she?"
"Do you call that a shape?" Letcher's astonishment grew. "Why, she's built like a boy."
"Not exactly," Deane smiled. "I'd say very feminine."
"Well, it's all a matter of taste," continued Letcher, "the
