flare that does the charcoal-act. You can't look for a big fire on the encore play. That's the way, I suppose, old Mother Nature saves us from madness.
That man seemed suddenly a thousand miles away from me as I looked at him. The cigar smoke made me a little dizzy. I think I must have gone rather white, all of a sudden.
"What's the matter with you, anyway?" he asked in genuine alarm.
"What's the matter with me?" I heard myself repeating, and my own voice sounded like a long- distance wire on a wet night. "I'll tell you what's the matter with me. It seems like a funny ailment, but d'you know, I'm terribly tired of dogs!"
"Tired of dogs?" he echoed, staring at me with his pop-eyes wider open than ever. He had discovered, apparently, that he was face to face with a crazy woman, and not even a policeman in sight.
"Yes," I calmly explained to him. "I came up into this office looking for a man. An hour ago I was in another office looking for a man."
"A man?" he echoed.
"Yes. And both times, instead of finding one, I found a yellow hound!"
That was my exit speech, and having delivered it, I took my departure. I wasn't excited this time;
