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I’m not an actress. I’m not kidding myself. I face a life like Vi’s—cheap boarding houses, a starvation diet, mending the runs in my stockings because I can’t afford new ones.…” She shivered.
    â€œDo you want to hear more?” asked Beau.
    She smiled all at once and withdrew her hand. “All right, Dick Tracy—shoot the works.”
    â€œKerrie, your uncle Cadmus died a multimillionaire.”
    â€œA—what?” she shrieked.
    â€œDidn’t you know how rich he was?”
    â€œWell, but I thought—”
    â€œHis estate is estimated at fifty million dollars.”
    â€œFifty mil—” Her tongue and lips grew stiff.
    It was like watching a kid open a Christmas box. Her breath was coming in quick little gusts.
    â€œTake another drink. Waiter! Rye, or Scotch?”
    â€œOh, Scotch, and lots of it! Tell me more. Did I hear you say fifty million? That’s not a slip of the tongue? You don’t mean fifty thousand? Fifty MILLION ?”
    â€œWhoa! Let’s go easy. You’re not getting any fifty million dollars.”
    â€œBut I thought you said—Oh, I don’t care! Nobody could spend that much money, anyway. How much is it?”
    â€œLet’s figure it out.” Beau began scribbling on the cloth. “The estate comes to about fifty millions. Your uncle didn’t use the cute dodges by which rich men usually cheat the constituted authorities of their death-shares. So inheritance taxes are going to eat up about thirty-five millions.”
    Kerrie closed her eyes. “Go on. What do I care how I spend money?”
    â€œFees and expenses will probably come to a half-million. That leaves fourteen million and a half. Invested in safe securities at, say, four percent—that makes an income annually of five hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
    â€œWhat?” said Kerrie, opening her eyes.
    â€œYou don’t get the principal. I’ll explain why later. Now, there are two of you sharing this income—your cousin Margo and you.”
    â€œHow do you do, Margo,” said Kerrie with a wriggle of delight. “Will you buy a gold-lined tub with me?”
    â€œYou mean—? But sure, you never even saw her. Anyway, your half-share annually comes to two hundred and ninety thousand. Income taxes should take a hundred and sixty thousand of that, so you’ll have a hundred and thirty thousand a year.”
    â€œHow much does that come to per week?” murmured Kerrie. “That’s the figure I want. I was always rotten in arithmetic.”
    â€œIt comes,” said Beau, scribbling the last figure, “to twenty-five hundred smackers a week.”
    â€œTwenty-five hun—Every week? Week in, week out?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy, that’s better than being a star!” cried Kerrie. “Twenty-five hundred a week clear! I suppose I’m dreaming. It’s a mean one, all right. Pinch me and wake me up.”
    â€œIt’s true. But—”
    â€œOh,” said Kerrie lightly. Then she sighed. “There’s a catch in it.”
    â€œWell … certain conditions. By the way, I’m empowered to finance you—all you want—until you reach New York. Sort of drawing account against that twenty-five hundred per. That is, if you accept the conditions.”
    â€œLet’s have them,” said Kerrie crisply. “I may as well know the worst.”
    â€œFirst,” said Beau, “have you ever been married?”
    â€œNo, but I’m eligible. Were you considering snaring an heiress this season? What’s the point?”
    â€œNever mind me.” Beau reddened. “Is there any chance of your being married in the near future? That is, are you engaged, or have you a boy-friend?”
    â€œI’m free, white, and just twenty-one.”
    â€œThen you’ve merely to accept your uncle’s conditions and at least half the