Ptomaine Street | Page 8

made a hit.
That was the way things came to Warble; a hit--a social success--and all because she forgot to put on her frock.
She mingled with the glittering throng of gilded youth, of golden lads and girls, of gilt-edged married people, and found herself in the arms of Goldwin Leathersham, her host.
"Here comes the bride," he shouted, as he piloted her about and introduced everybody to her.
"This demure little beauty," he said, "is Daisy Snow. Note her sweet, pure face and wide-eyed, innocent gaze."
"It is all so new--so wonderful--" Miss Snow breathed, "I'm a débutante, you know, and I have scarcely butterflied out of my chrysalis yet. How splendid the Leathershams are. He has a heart of gold. Oh, he is such a good man, he says his life motto is the Golden Rule." "And Mrs. Leathersham?" asked Warble.
"Marigold? Oh, yes, she's as good as gold, too. We're firm friends."
Warble was agog to mingle, so she moved on.
Le Grand Paynter, a celebrated Cubic artist, fascinated her with his flowing locks, flowing tie and marvelous flow of conversation. He asked to paint her as a Semi-nude Descending a Ladder, but she only said she must refer him to her Petticoat.
Freeman Scattergood, the well-known philanthropist was chatting with Mrs. Charity Givens, who was the champion Subscription List Header. Many had tried to oust her from this enviable position but without success. Near them stood Avery Goodman, the rector, and he was deeply engaged in a flirtation with Miss May Young, one of his choir girls.
Manley Knight, a returned soldier, was resplendent with a Croix de Guerre, a Hot Cross Bun and many other Noughts and Crosses.
Warble fingered them in her light way.
"Isn't he splendid!" babbled Daisy Snow the ingénue; "Oh, how wonderful to offer one's life for glory! You can fairly see the heroism bubble out of his eyes!"
"How you admire him!" said Warble.
"Yes, but he doesn't care for me."
"Not specially," admitted Manley Knight. "Yes," Daisy said. "He thinks me too ignorant and unsophisticated--and I am. Now, there's Lotta Munn, the heiress--she's more in his line. But Ernest Swayne is devoted to Lotta. I think it will be a real love match--like the Trues."
"The Trues?" asked Warble, politely.
"Yes," and she glanced toward a very devoted looking pair sitting apart from the rest, on a small divan. "They're wonderful! Herman True is the most marvelous husband you ever saw. He never speaks to anyone but his wife. And she's just the same. She was Faith Loveman, you know. And they've been married two years and are still honeymoon lovers! Ah, what a fate!"
Daisy sighed, a sweet little-girly sigh, and blushed like a slice of cold boiled ham.
But this Who's Whosing was interrupted by a footman with a tray of cocktails.
Daisy Snow refused, of course, as became a débutante so did Judge Drinkwater, who stood near by, frowning upon the scene, he being a Prohibitionist.
A sickly looking lady next to him achieved several, and Warble asked Daisy who she might be.
"Oh, that's Iva Payne--you met her, you know. She's very delicate, a semi-invalid, under the care of specialists all the time. I don't exactly know what her malady is, but it's something very interesting to the doctors. There's scarcely anything she can eat--I believe she brings her own specially prepared food to parties.
"She seems to relish the cock-a-whoops all right," Warble commented.
"I understand the doctors prescribe stimulants for her--she is not at all strong. They give her artificial strength, she says."
"Yes, she seems to be strong for 'em. Don't you take any?"
"Oh no! I'm a débutante. And mother says she wants to be with me when I take my first cocktail and smoke my first cigarette."
"Dear girl, Daisy, so fresh and unspoiled! Her mother is one of a thousand."
This from Manley Knight, who constituted himself Daisy's proxy in the matter of cocktails and drank all that would have been Daisy's had her mother permitted.
Goldwin Leathersham seemed to be acting as proxy for some débutante also, for he seemed to feel pretty bobbish, but Warble was only slightly interested in the whole matter.
She rolled her Wedgwooden eyes about, hoping the horde would be herded toward the dining-room. But no such luck.
Instead they drifted in the opposite direction and, swept along with the crowd, Warble found herself in one of a serried series of gilt chairs, facing a platform as large as a theater stage.
An erudite looking man who appeared on the platform received tumultous applause.
"Who is he?" Warble whispered to her neighbor, who chanced to be Avery Goodman, "an impersonator?"
"Lord, no; it's Wunstone, the great scientist--rants on Fourth Avenue dimensions, or something like that."
In a tone of forceful mildness the speaker began: "It must be conceded that, other things being equal, and granting the investiture of all insensate communication, that a psychic moment may or may