mornin' the newspapers give us more than the best of the thing.
So that was that!
How the so ever, let us finish up the events of that night. We meet the peace-destroyin' Désirée back stage after the show and she's a mass of smiles.
"Whal, 'ow you like Désirée to-night, my fren's?" she wants to know.
"O. K.," I says. "You got past nicely."
"Kid," says Ptomaine Joe, dangerously ill of love, "you was a wow, I'll tell the pink-eyed world!"
"You were charming, Désirée," says Kid Roberts quietly, "but, frankly, I do not like your costume."
The bright smile leaves Désirée's beautiful face like magic and its place is taken immediately by a frown.
"Vraiment!" she snaps. "Ce n'est pas gentil ce que vous dites-la! But what ees ze mattaire wiz my costume?"
"It—it is too abbreviated," says Kid Roberts flushin' a bit, but evidently determined to go through with matters now that he's begun. "It is not only merely abbreviated, Désirée, it is—it is—well; you are too young and unspoiled to be exposed to the supersophisticated atmosphere of that act. I am sincerely sorry that I was the means of your getting that engagement and—"
"Pardon, monsieur!" interrupts Désirée, with a edd light in her sparklin' eyes. "Why 'ave you thees alarm for me? What you care what I do? What ees your in-ter-est in Désirée?"
