“Nice of you to include me. I wouldn’t miss the first number for anything. I’ll see that we’re both there in time.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Her father patted her hand. “We’ve got a small matter of business to go over and then we’ll be right along. Success to you, dearest.”
“’Bye!”
A fine rain was falling when Dorothy stepped into her car. As yet it was more a heavy mist than a downpour. But with the wind in the east she realized that this part of the country was in for several days of wet weather. She drove carefully, for the winding wooded roads were slippery. Upon arriving at the Guild House, she changed at once into costume.
The Silvermine Sillies, like Mr. Ziegfield’s more elaborate Follies, is invariably a revue, consisting of eighteen or twenty separate acts. As Dorothy stood in the wings, waiting for her cue, shortly after the first curtain rose, she was addressed by the stage manager:
“Have you seen Terry?”
“Not since this afternoon. Why?”
“He’s not here.”
Dorothy was fighting back the stage fright that always assailed her while waiting to “go on,” but which always disappeared as soon as she made her entrance. She turned her mind to what the manager was saying with an effort.