“Yes, ma’am,” said Bertha. “I was taught pretty good. My father came of good folks, and mother’s people were nice, if they were poor. Mrs. Foley tells me I’ve a lot of folderols in my head where my brains ought to be,” and she laughed gently.
“Did you get the chance to sing, Bertha?” asked Jessie suddenly.
“Not just now, the gentleman said. But he said I might come again and he would try me out at rehearsal.”
She turned away with a bright smile and nod. But Jessie asked another question:
“Did you tell him your name, Bertha?”
“He did not ask me, Miss Jessie.”
Jessie swung about to see Mr. Blair talking to her mother. But although he was busily engaged with the Roselawn lady, the superintendent’s gaze followed Bertha to the elevator, and that not idly. But the girl disappeared without the superintendent’s speaking again to her.
Most of the professionals were already at the station, and the orchestra as well. Having sung and played for broadcasting before, Mr. Blair considered that they might rehearse in one of the smaller soundproof rooms without much attention on his part.
But to show the amateurs what to do and how to do it was an entirely different matter. The girls’ chorus trained by the New Melford high school singing teacher was the number which threatened the most trouble. There were nearly thirty girls in the chorus, and now that school was over some of them were not very amenable to discipline.
Belle Ringold made considerable trouble for Miss Allister and delayed the rehearsal while she told, tossing her head, just how she thought the songs should be sung.