“I was seeing Nellie home. I was seeing Nellie home.
It was from Aunt Dinah’s quilting party, I was seeing Nellie home.”
“Ha! Ha! How’s that, Nellie?” inquired a deep bass voice.
Dorothy stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. This was better than the play, she thought, as she vaguely wondered what sort of life must be led behind the scenes. Then the thought of her position sent a chill over her. She must seek out the performer who went by the name of Miss Riceman, and then—
By this time a number of the characters appeared from their dressing rooms, and Dorothy stepped up to a girl with an enormous hat on her head, and a pair of very small shoes in her hand. As the girl sank gracefully down on an upturned box to adjust her ties, and, incidentally, to get a breath of air after the atmosphere of the stuffy dressing room, Dorothy asked timidly:
“Can you tell me where Miss Riceman’s dressing room is?”
“That first door to the left,” answered the girl, tilting her big hat back far enough to allow a glimpse of her questioner.
Dorothy stepped up to the door. Surely Tavia could not be there! Dorothy’s heart beat furiously. She was trembling so she could hardly knock, but managed to give a faint tap.
“Who?” called a girlish voice.
“Miss Dale,” answered Dorothy mechanically, feeling as if she would almost be willing to give up her search for Tavia if she could be well out of the place. There was a moment’s wait and then the door swung open.