Page:Arthur Stringer - The Door of Dread.djvu/77

 Sadie could see the black hair that curled about the edges of his outstanding ears. He was half-way across the room before he stopped, hesitated and then slowly advanced toward the vacant chair that faced the table, groping for it with an abstracted hand as he stared into the woman's heavily powdered face. Then he sat down in the chair.

"You ain't Fannie Fatichiara!" he suddenly and deliberately announced.

"Ain't I?" murmured the impassive-eyed Sadie.

"You're a faker!" announced the stranger, suddenly leaning forward in his chair.

Sadie's somnolent eye was languid with scorn.

"If any she-cat's been crabbin' my name," she majestically proclaimed, "I'll put her outta business b'fore she kin squeal for help!"

The man sniffed. "You smoke cigars?" he demanded.

"No," was Sadie's languid retort. "But I guess that pool-room king I'm pickin' winners for kin maybe blow hisself to an occasional purfecto!"

"You ain't Fannie Fatichiara!" doggedly repeated the newcomer. The woman behind the black-draped table suddenly lost the last of her majestic mien. "Well, if