A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. I hated the stuff. Sometimes ships would stop three or four days for water and repairs; and the men would carouse in the back room at Morgan's. For me that is all over and done with. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily.
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