A Damsel in Distress | Page 8

the first-nighters was
speaking very 'ighly of it. There's a regular click, you know, sir, over
here in London, that goes to all the first nights in the gallery. 'Ighly
critical they are always. Specially if it's an American piece like this one.
If they don't like it, they precious soon let you know. My missus ses
they was all speakin' very 'ighly of it. My missus says she ain't seen a
livelier show for a long time, and she's a great theatregoer. My missus
says they was all specially pleased with the music."
"That's good."
"The Morning Leader give it a fine write-up. How was the rest of the
papers?"
"Splendid, all of them. I haven't seen the evening papers yet. I came out
to get them."
Mac looked down the street.
"There'll be a rehearsal this afternoon, I suppose, sir? Here's Miss Dore
coming along."
George followed his glance. A tall girl in a tailor-made suit of blue was
coming towards them. Even at a distance one caught the genial
personality of the new arrival. It seemed to go before her like a
heartening breeze. She picked her way carefully through the children
crawling on the side walk. She stopped for a moment and said
something to one of them. The child grinned. Even the proprietor of the
grocery store appeared to brighten up at the sight of her, as at the sight
of some old friend.

"How's business, Bill?" she called to him as she passed the spot where
he stood brooding on the mortality of tomatoes. And, though he replied
"Rotten", a faint, grim smile did nevertheless flicker across his tragic
mask.
Billie Dore, who was one of the chorus of George Bevan's musical
comedy, had an attractive face, a mouth that laughed readily, rather
bright golden hair (which, she was fond of insisting with perfect truth,
was genuine though appearances were against it), and steady blue eyes.
The latter were frequently employed by her in quelling admirers who
were encouraged by the former to become too ardent. Billie's views on
the opposite sex who forgot themselves were as rigid as those of Lord
Marshmoreton concerning thrips. She liked men, and she would signify
this liking in a practical manner by lunching and dining with them, but
she was entirely self-supporting, and when men overlooked that fact
she reminded them of it in no uncertain voice; for she was a girl of
ready speech and direct.
"'Morning, George. 'Morning, Mac. Any mail?"
"I'll see, miss."
"How did your better four-fifths like the show, Mac?"
"I was just telling Mr. Bevan, miss, that the missus said she 'adn't seen
a livelier show for a long time."
"Fine. I knew I'd be a hit. Well, George, how's the boy this bright
afternoon?"
"Limp and pessimistic."
"That comes of sitting up till four in the morning with festive hams."
"You were up as late as I was, and you look like Little Eva after a night
of sweet, childish slumber."
"Yes, but I drank ginger ale, and didn't smoke eighteen cigars. And yet,

I don't know. I think I must be getting old, George. All-night parties
seem to have lost their charm. I was ready to quit at one o'clock, but it
didn't seem matey. I think I'll marry a farmer and settle down."
George was amazed. He had not expected to find his present view of
life shared in this quarter.
"I was just thinking myself," he said, feeling not for the first time how
different Billie was from the majority of those with whom his
profession brought him in contact, "how flat it all was. The show
business I mean, and these darned first nights, and the party after the
show which you can't sidestep. Something tells me I'm about through."
Billie Dore nodded.
"Anybody with any sense is always about through with the show
business. I know I am. If you think I'm wedded to my art, let me tell
you I'm going to get a divorce the first chance that comes along. It's
funny about the show business. The way one drifts into it and sticks, I
mean. Take me, for example. Nature had it all doped out for me to be
the Belle of Hicks Corners. What I ought to have done was to buy a
gingham bonnet and milk cows. But I would come to the great city and
help brighten up the tired business man."
"I didn't know you were fond of the country, Billie."
"Me? I wrote the words and music. Didn't you know I was a country
kid? My dad ran a Bide a Wee Home for flowers, and I used to know
them all by their middle names. He was a nursery gardener out in
Indiana. I tell you, when I