“Then why do you go back?”
“What can I do?”
“If you could only sing, you might join us in the chorus!”
(Stella, it vaguely occurred to him, would have replied: “Can’t you think of anything yourself?”)
“I wish I could sing,” he said.
“Ever try?”
“Yes. I sound like one of the fog horns on Yerba Buena during a tule fog!”
She laughed. “It’s a pity, because you could stick around.”
“I’ve often thought I’d like to go on the stage if I ever got a chance....”
“Why don’t you speak about it to Mr. Curry?”