The forecourt of the theater was jammed with spectators and autograph seekers. Several of the former had brought chairs; many had been sitting or standing there since morning that they might be assured of choice vantage spots from which to view the great ones of filmdom's capital.
As Clayton entered the forecourt, the voice of Freeman Lang was filling the boulevard from the loud speakers. "The celebrities are coming thick and fast now. Naomi Madison is just getting out of her car—and there's her new husband with her, the Prince Mudini. And here comes the sweetest little girl, just coming into the forecourt now. It's Balza herself! I'll try to get her to say something to you. Oh, Sweetheart, come over here. My, how gorgeous you're looking tonight. Won't you say just a word to all your friends of the air? Right over here, please, dear."
A dozen autograph pests were poking pencils and books toward Balza, but she quieted them with her most seductive smile and approached the microphone.
"Hello, everybody!" she lisped. "I wish you were all here. It's simply mahvellous. I'm so happy to be back in Hollywood."
Clayton smiled enigmatically, the crowd in the street roared its applause, and Freeman turned to greet the next celebrity. "And here comes—well, he can't get through the crowd. Honestly, folks, this crowd is simply tremendous. We've officiated at a lot of premières, but we've never seen anything like this. The police can't hold 'em back. They're crowding right up here on top of the microphone. Yes, here he comes! Hello, there, Jimmie! Right over here. The folks want to hear from you. This is Jimmie Stone, second assistant production manager of the B.O. Studio, whose super feature, Soft Shoulders, is being premièred here tonight in Grauman's Chinese Theater."
"Hello, efferybody. I wish you was all here. It's simply marvellous. Hello, Momma!"
"Let's go inside," suggested Clayton.
"Well, Clayton, how did you like the picture?" asked Reece.
"The acrobats in the prologue were splendid," replied the Englishman.