Suddenly, with a frightful shock, she realized that the curtain was up, that the stage was waiting . . . waiting . . . that this—was—her—cue. . . .
Crowd laughs at cabman’s sallies. Aunt Harriet and the girls reach the top of the area steps. Bob is busy with her trunk. Gramophone next door starts ‘YES! We have no bananas.’ Cabman stops his discourse, listens intently, and then says, ‘ ’Ark! The ’erald angels sing.’ Crowd yells with delight. Enter The Lady Ann Minter. . . .
Ann pulled herself together and got out of the cab.
Then she turned to the driver and put out her hand.
“Thank you so much for bringing us,” she said most charmingly.
It was a fatal gesture—because it was the act of a lady.
The laughter snapped off short: the grins faded: the genial atmosphere stiffened with a jar.
The cabman’s assurance fell from him like a shirt of mail. His drollery collapsed before a mountainous wave of respect.
He took off his shabby hat and touched the slight fingers.
“Thank you, m’m,” he said humbly.