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 Deane nodded, "Not only that, Miss Flynn,—I'm going to give you one hundred advance. Buy some wardrobe with it. You'll need two hats with feathers on them."

"Two hats with feathers on 'em," echoed Minnie in a dazed monotone.

"You'll need a sweater and a tam. Do you like red?" Deane was smiling, though his voice was cold.

"You bet your sweet life I do," Minnie answered, brought out of her hysteria by his commonplace question. Then she added hastily, her face burning, "If you don’t mind, I'd like to get a green tam. It goes lots better with my hair."

"Get anything you like," answered Deane. "Buy a few bangles for your wrists. Girls like bracelets, don't they?"

Minnie had lost all her self-consciousness. "Sure, I like bracelets. I'm a girl, ain't I?"

"You're the girl, that's more to the point," Deane answered, always with that detached smile.

Weaver returned and put the contract and a check in front of Deane, who glanced over them casually, made a slight notation, then read the contract aloud to Minnie. She listened, standing there swaying slightly, her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her fingers unconsciously keeping time to the emphasis in Deane's voice.

"You can sign here," Deane pointed to the dotted line. When Minnie reached for the pen, he felt her finger tips cold against his. "She can act," he thought to himself. "I'll be able to get something out of her. Ignorant, but emotional."

Minnie signed on the dotted line, "Minnie Flynn."

"I thought your name was Mineola?" This was the first time Weaver had spoken.

"Yeh, it is. Minnie for short. Ain't it funny—I'm that nervous!"