“Good for you,” Miss Vanzetti commanded. “If you don’t dance you might as well be dead, I’ll say. Keeps you thin, too; and the music at the Lantern is swell.”
The incident is so slight that to get its significance you must link it up with the sound of the telephone which, as a simultaneous happening, was waking Judson Flack from his first real sleep after an uncomfortable night. Nothing but the fear lest by ignoring the call the great North Dakota Oil Company whose shares would soon be on the market, would be definitely launched without his assistance dragged him from his bed.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice inquired: “Is this Hudson 283-J?”
“You bet.”
“Is Miss Gravely in?”
“Just gone out. Only round the corner. Back in a few minutes. Say, sister, I’m her stepfather, and ’ll take the message.”
“Tell her to come right over to the Excelsior Studio. Castin’ director’s got a part for her. Real part. Small but a stunner. Outcast girl. I s’pose she’s got some old duds to dress it in?”
“Sure thing!”