(3 of 3)
The Roseray extravaganza had no sooner disappeared from front pages than another and far more laughable divertissement or, more properly, advertisement, took its place. Miss Mary Louise Texas Guinan, who is the proprietress of an excellent night club, took a stance on the edge of the same puddle in Central Park; she watched several jejune gentlemen, wrapped in coonskin shrouds, pulling a body from out of the water. Newsgatherers, a little backward and timid lest someone should play a trick on them, gathered to see what was going on. "Who is she?" they enquired methodically when the wet cotton corpse had been stretched out on the bank to dry. "It's me," cried Miss Guinan, flinging herself upon the still damp cadaver and kissing its sticky face. The proprietor of the cabaret in which Mlle. Roseray conducts her undulations was lamentably not present. Miss Guinan too had apparently been his admirer; she too had attempted death for his sake. Surrounded by photographers and pretty girls from her chorus, she simply said: "I died because I love him." It was admitted that Mme. Guinan had reached the first page through her own sagacity rather than, as had Mlle. Roseray, through reportorial and editorial avarice or imbecility.