Mr. Cosgrove took out a check book and a fountain pen and commenced to write. Mr. Harriman leaned behind Rosanna and watched.
“Poh! Hum! Grrrrrr! Piker!” he said, and Mr. Cosgrove, laughing, tore up his check and wrote another which he handed to Mr. Harriman. Rosanna did not think it would be polite to look, but wondered what in the world they were doing when they should have been listening to the music.
“S’all right,” said Mr. Harriman. “Girl’s pretty lame, isn’t she, Rosanna?”
“Gwenny can’t walk at all,” replied Rosanna, “and even at night her back hurts so she can’t sleep.”
“Poor little broken pot,” said the third gentleman softly. “A pity that the hand of the Potter slipped.”
“Save your poetry, Bristol!” grunted Mr. Harriman. “This talks better.” He struck the check book with his pen, and Mr. Bristol, borrowing a page, wrote busily as the curtain rose.
Rosanna, hoping they would forget business for a while, bent her eyes on the stage.
CHAPTER VII