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When Justine Johnstone Was Natural 239
“And a couple of years have slipped by — and Mr. John Drew and I are stars playing in the same town — and some nights his receipts at the Princess are $225. And that isn’t right. The public is wrong. Those receipts are not right, I mean. I’m not saying,” she smiled, “that the public is wrong about me. I’m not that ungrateful. Absolutement.”
“It does look like Haig & Haig, doesn’t it?” she said, fondling the flask of scent.
“Named after you?”
“Not yet. One usually starts by having cigars named — and then works up to toilet articles. But I dread the cigars. They are usually five-centers, aren’t they? I’d hate to have anything bearing my name in the mouth of a man who’d smoke a five-cent cigar.”
“You are not a democrat?”
“No, and I don’t pretend to be anything that I’m not. I loathe the posing socialist — or any other kind of a poser. I like my own kind of people and only that kind. I’d bore the others, and they me. I wouldn’t walk out with a stage-hand because I’m quite sure that neither of us would enjoy it. But, for that matter, I’ve never seen any railroad presidents that are especially delightful company.”
“Where does your preference lie?”
“Just people — regular, nice, human people, with, if possible, a sense of humor.” And she did not say it maliciously.
“Is Chicago always as lovely as this?” she asked, bathing her face in the sunshine.
“How do you usually find Chicago?”
“This is my first trip. I’m terribly untraveled. When I was a chorus girl I couldn’t afford to leave New York. It would have injured my professional