In which Sabrina receives the balance of the fortune, says farewell to the hall bed-room, secures more imposing quarters, a French maid, an automobile and other accessories as befitting her station.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’ve got Adversity laying on her back and purring with Contentment,” remarked Sabrina the Show Girl, as she stepped out of a taxicab in front of a cafe, “and I guess she’ll stand hitched for a few minutes.  Tell my driver to wait and then come in and have a little liquid nourishment.  This is the only place I can find where one can get any kind of service.  My, ain’t I getting fussy?  Here ’two weeks ago coffee and butter-cakes were a banquet.  But why dig up the past, and I reiterate the remark, ‘Let the dead bury its dead.’  If anybody mentions Mink’s to me I am liable to throw a foaming fit and fall in it.  Every time I pass a bread line I am filled with sorrow for the poor unfortunates, while heretofore I got sore because they had beaten me to it.

“Sure, the lawyer guy kicked in with the balance of the ten thousand, and I am now busily engaged in putting it where it will do the most good.  Moved?  Well, I should hope so, dear.  Instead of existing in a two-by-four hallroom, with an airshaft exposure, where you have to open the door to think, I am now residing in a real suite.  Maybe you think I don’t keep Estelle—­that’s my maid—­on the job.  She’s the busy proposition about that dump.  As soon as I come out of my beauty sleep in the morning I ring the bell and in capers Estelle with a dipperful of chocolate, which I sip while reclining on my couch, and you can take it from me it’s got this stunt of romping about a cold room in a canton flannel kimona trifling with the affections of a gas stove beat to a purple pulp.

“Then after reading the morning paper I arise, take a bawth, and Estelle does my hair.  That is, she does part of it.  I can’t bear any one’s teeth but my own on my Dutch braid.  You know some people are sensitive that a-way.  After the hair dressing number I inhale about $4 worth of breakfast and then lounge about my little nest.  I call it my little nest because it is finished in birdseye maple.  I always have eggs for breakfast, and Estelle puts on the finishing touches with a feather duster and I boss the job, smoking a cigarette.  I always was strong for having things harmonize.  I suppose it is my artistic temperament.  I always drink cordials the same color as my hat.  After that everything is fixed to my entire satisfaction, and I won’t stand for cigarette butts being kicked under the bed, either.  I’m that particular.  Then about noon the dressmaker makes her entrance and I pick out my gowns.  Clothes!  Say, when I line out of here for that dear Emporia I’ll have to buy twenty-five tickets so as I can get a baggage car free.  I’ll need it.  From the apparel I am purchasing you’d think I was wardrobe mistress for a number two ‘Talk of New York’ company.  If I don’t make those canned goods drummers in front of the Palace Hotel think there is something in town besides a ‘Tom’ show I hope I never see Broadway again.