The platinum blond secretary of Helen Kane sits in front of me in Miss Kane's dressing room at the Shubery Theater and every possible topic of conversation has been exhausted.  The actress is coming to be interviewed but she does not come.  A red necktie hangs from the wall at one side. It seems the situation will go on forever, this waiting.  I would like to get up and go away, but this blond secretary and the red tie are a kind of inexplicable force that keeps me nailed to my seat.

My appointment with Miss Kane was for 8:30. It is now 9 o'clock.  Any hope of her coming, I ask, breaking the heavy silence.   Oh sure she'll come, Yes I have heard that.  And we plunge back into the uncomfortable silence. 

I observe now that the red tie has very small circles upon it with white spots in the center.

Who may have brought that tie here? I ask myself, my mind vagabonding about.

It might reveal many things it's presence here in the dressing room of a musical comedy actress.  And how did its owner happen to walk out without it?  A light wind coming through the window and the open door causes the tie to oscillate.  No? Ah... I see! There is a secret you don't want to reveal not to a newspaper person.  All right, I shall respect it!  Trust me, You see? It isn;t true that newspaper people telling all they know. Everybody is afraid of saying too much!   But I, you see respect your secrets.

Just tell me though there can be no harm in it.  Was your owner a man of fine taste?  or is it that you help and actor to build up a character?   Maybe an important businessman, fine, distinguished, smart for whom you brought a slightly picturesque note into his mathematical life?

Or a man bored by the regularity of monotonous menagepicked you in hise desire to light  up his life at least with his necktie?

When an actor dresses himself up to impersonate a character he must think of this, is it not so?

But the tie all this time continues to hang, desolate, cumpled.

There is a sort of spychology in the neckties of a man. A man of a certain age wants a bright tie. I brought one of black satin to my father once and he did not wear it.  His nephew did.

Now as I sit there is a smell of flowers...roses.  Yes, I am not mistaken there is a smell of roses.  And i hear a light step. It is the atress coming?

I am not so lucky. It announces only the approach of a woman with flowers.  She is blond and fat and talks now to the secretary about cleaning services and how much it costs for dressing room services. It seems the rate is $7 for two weeks.

I feel deserted and alone and helpless like the red tie, as i sit in the corner of the dressing room interminably waiting.

Please, i ask at last, satisfy my curiosity. Who put that tie there?

Oh that tie... the large maid says and she picks it up as she walks out...

The spell is broken.  A mad desire to run away  assails me to run away!  And without taking leave, with the feeling that if i do not go now i will never be able to go at all, i spring up  and go away.

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