Ptomaine Street | Page 8

got it, anyway.
His home was an Aladdin's Palace, with a slight influence of Solomon's
Temple. Gold was his keynote, and he was never off the key.
When our Petticoats arrived at the party, they were met by gold-laced
footmen, who whisked them into shape and passed them along.
Warble found herself in a white and gold salon, so vast, that she felt
like a goldfish out of water. The place looked as if Joseph Urban had
designed it after he had died and gone to Golconda. Whatever wasn't
white was gold, and the other way round. The gold piano had only
white keys, and the draperies were cloth of gold with bullion fringe. All
real, too--no rolled or plated stuff.
A huge coat-of-arms in a gold frame announced that Mr. Leathersham
was descended from the Gold Digger Indians, a noble ancestry indeed;
and it was no secret that his wife had played in "The Gold-diggers,"
during its second decade run.
Marigold Leathersham was a charming hostess, and greeted Warble
with a shriek of welcome. "You duck," she cried; "how heavenly of you
to dress so well."
Warble was simply attired in a white pussy-willow silk underslip. In
her haste and excitement she had forgotten to add the gown meant to go
over it, and as she wore no jewels save the chased gold lingerie clasps
at her shoulders, the result was a simplicity as charming as it was
unintentional.
And so she 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