At the door of Miss De Voe's eight by ten, shared by four, dressing room, one of the back drop of privates, erect, squarebacked, head thrown up by the deep-dipping cap vizor, emerged at sight of her, lifted hat revealing a great permanent wave of hair that could only be born not bought.
"H'lo, Hal."
"Hello, Blossum."
"Whose hot water bottle did you come to borrow?"
"Hot water bottle?"
"Yeh, you look like you got the double pneumonia and each one of the pneumonia's got the tooth ache. Who stole your kite, ikkie boy?"
Mr. Hal Sanderson flung up a fine impatient head, the permanent hair-wave lifting,
"We'll can the comedy, Blossum," he said.
She lowered to a mock curtsey, mouth skewed to control laughter, arms akimbo.
"We will now sing psalm twenty-three."