Bambi | Page 6

as he passed her.
"No, sah. I ain't jes' what you call----" she muttered, following him out.
Bambi brought up the rear, chuckling over this daily controversy,
which never failed to amuse her.
When the front door slammed, she came back to where Jarvis sat, his
untouched luncheon before him. He watched her closely as she flashed
into the room, like some swift, vivid bird perching opposite him.
"I spoiled your luncheon," she laughed.
"Bambi, why did you do this thing?"
"Good heavens, I don't know. I did it because I'm I, I suppose."
"You wanted to marry me?" he persisted.
"I thought I ought to. Somebody had to look after you, and I am used to
looking after father. I like helpless men."
"So you were sorry for me? It was pity----"
"Rubbish. I believe in you. If you have a chance to work out your
salvation you will be a big man. If you are hectored to death, you will
kill yourself, or compromise, and that will be the end of you."
"You see that--you understand----"

He pushed back his chair and came to her.
"You think that little you can stand between me and these things that I
must compromise with?"
She nodded at him, brightly. He leaned over, took her two small hands,
and leaned his face against them.
"Thank you," he said, simply; "but I won't have it."
"Why not?"
"Because I am not worth it. You saw me in a work fit. I'm a devil. I'm
like one possessed. I swear and rave if I am interrupted. I can't eat nor
sleep till I get the madness out of me. I am not human. I am not normal.
I am not fit to live with."
"Very well, we will build a cage at the top of the house, and when you
feel a fit coming on you can go up there. I'll slip you food through a
wire door so you can't bite me, and I'll exhibit you for a fee as the
wildest genius in captivity."
"Bambi, be serious. This is no joke. This is awful!"
"You consider it awful to be married to me?"
"I am not thinking of myself. I am thinking of you. You have got
yourself into a pretty mess, and I've got to get you out of it."
"How?"
"I'll divorce you."
"You've got no grounds. I've been a kind, dutiful wife to you. I haven't
been near you since I married you, except to give you food."
"How do you expect we are to live? Nobody wants my plays."
"How do you know? You never try to sell them. You told me so

yourself. You feel so superior to managers and audiences that you
never offer them."
"I know. I occasionally go to the theatre, by mistake, and I see what
they want."
"That's no criterion. We won't condemn even a Broadway manager
until he proves himself such a dummy as not to want your plays."
"Broadway? Think of a play of mine on Broadway! Think of the fat
swine who waddle into those theatres!"
"My dear, there are men of brains writing for the theatre to-day who do
not scorn those swine."
"Men of brains? Who, who, I ask you?"
"Bernard Shaw."
"Showman, trickster."
"Barrie."
"Well, maybe."
"Pinero?"
"Pinero knows his trade," he admitted.
"Galsworthy, Brieux."
"Galsworthy is a pamphleteer. Brieux is no artist. He is a surgeon. They
have nothing to say to Broadway. Broadway swallows the pills they
offer because of their names, but they might just as well give them the
sugar drip they want, for all the good it does."
"Well, they get heard, anyhow. What's the use of writing a play if it
isn't acted? Of course we'll sell your plays."

"But if we don't, where will you be?"
"Oh, I'll be all right. I mean to support myself, anyhow, and you, too, if
the plays don't go."
He laughed.
"You are an amusing mite. Queer I never noticed you before."
"You'll like me, if you continue to be aware of me. I'm nice," she
laughed up at him, and he smiled back.
"How do you intend to make this fortune, may I ask?"
"I haven't decided yet. Of course I can dance. If worst came to worst, I
can make a big salary dancing."
"Dancing?" he exploded.
"Yes, didn't you ever hear of it? With the feet, you know, and the body,
and the eyes, and the arms. So!"
She twirled about him in a circle, like a gay little figurine. He watched
her, fascinated.
"You can dance, can't you?"
"I can. At times I am quite inspired. Now, if you and the Professor will
be sensible, and let me go to New York and take a job, I could support
us all