“Teddy! Teddy!” The call had sounded so often that to Teddy himself his name had undergone that strange transformation where it had become a senseless word, without end or meaning. He was sick of it. If he heard it once more, he told himself, he would smash something—preferably the stage scenery. One prop pulled out and there would be a splendid crash.
But he had no time to waste, pulling props or contemplating ruin. He was hurrying as fast as he could. He stacked a heap of gossamer costume on a rickety chair, started off in answer to a plaintive cry, and then rushed back just in time to keep the costume from tumbling down. “Teddy! Come here a minute.” There was no time to say “please,” no time for anyone to adopt the usual pretence that they were asking him and not ordering. He put the costume down again, more firmly, and tore off in the direction of the ladies’ dressing-room. Mrs. Saville-Sanders wanted to be pinned up.
“Teddy!” That was Bob, at the other end of the stage. “I need some help here.”
“Teddy! What in hell did you do with that foundation cream?”
“Teddy! Come and fix my eyebrows. I look like a ruin. What’s the matter?”
“Teddy Madden, come and tell me where to put this jar. You stand out there and look. Do you think so? No, I’m sure you’re wrong....”
“Ted, Gwen Saville-Sanders wants you to fix the flower that goes in her hair. Hurry up, for God’s sake. She’s on a rampage.”
He dashed into the dressing-room again and Phyllis Parker snatched up a wrapper and screamed. Startled, he paused and glanced at her. Her legs were long and bare beneath the wrapper: she clutched it to her flat bosom like Diana surprised in the bath, and glared at him.
“Oh, don’t be such a damn fool!” he snarled, overwhelmed by the imbecility of it. “D’you think I have time....”
“Teddy! Teddee.. ee.. ee.” A maliciously long-drawn wail that set his teeth on edge. He was dripping with sweat and his face was smeared with dust and plaster. For a quarter of an hour the audience had been clapping spasmodically, now someone had started them off on a slow, ominous, steady applause that beat on his ears terrifyingly. Well, what if they did get tired and go home? Of course they wouldn’t, but what if they did? He would be glad. He wanted more than anything in the world to go into a corner and sleep; if anyone called him he would show his teeth like a rat. One more idiot yelling for him....