"Say, Mr. Percival B. Fresh, you certainly are the village wag when it comes to the Oriental repartee, ain't you?"
"Sure I am, but I have to go to the mat when they commence to dish out this Emporia humor. Oh. Laza! Do you care for the one in red?"
"Of course I may go wrong, but in my mind no gentleman would make remarks about another girl when he is with a lady."
"Say, girlie, you're all right—lovely hair, beautiful eyes and all that—but cut it; drop in your penny and get wise to yourself. That's a great show you are with."
"When was you out front?"
"Night before last."
"Night before last! My Heavens! Wasn't I a sight? You know the girl I dress with had been out to a wine supper and she came splashing into the dressing room lit up like a show window and cried my makeup box full of tears over the death of her baby sister, and the way I had to put it on I thought was sure good for a fine, and to make matters worse some hussy got next to all my toothpicks and I had to use a hairpin for a liner; but did you notice the way that cat of a soubrette keeps me out of the spotlight? Professional jealousy, that's all; but it don't do me no good to kick, because the stage manager sends her silk stockings and that kind of junk, while the best I get is a chance to hold hands with the electrician; but, of course, he gets his orders."
"Say, that piece of work that stands on the end opposite you is all to the berries, ain't she?"
"Her!"
"Surest thing you know. She looks like a night-blooming pippin to me."