"I swear to God if Max don't give me twenty lines in the next, I'll go on to New York," said a Miss Connie Girard dispassionately. "There's a party I know there rents a house that Frohman owns, and he'd give me a letter. What I want is a Broadway success."
"That time we played—you know, seven weeks running, in Portland," said a stout, aging actress, "the time my little dance made such a hit, you know—"
"Mind jer, Max never come near us this morning," interrupted a Miss Rose Ransome firmly. "Because he knew what he done, and he wasn't looking for trouble! He wrote a notice—"
"One of the Portland papers, in c'menting on the show—" the dancer resumed.
"Say, Julie, want to walk down to Kearney with me?" Miss Girard said, jumping up. "I want to get my corsets, and we might drop in and see if we can work Foster for some seats for to-night."
"I've got a date to-night," said Julia, with a glance at her mother.
"What's that?" Emeline said sharply.
"Why, Mama, I told you I was going to the Orpheum with the Rosenthals—"
"She's going with the whole bunch," Mrs. Page commented, with a shrug. "I can't stand them, but she can!"
"I think Mark Rosenthal's a darling," some girl said, "I want to tell you right now there's not anybody can play the piano as good as he can."