“When I was playing the leads with ‘Too Proud to Beg,’” mocked the juvenile man, burlesquing the other, “in the palmy days of the melodrama, we were——”
“Say no more,” interrupted Dodge, lifting a hand. “It is not a thing to jest over. An artistic performance should never be marred by impromptu speeches.”
Metcalfe puckered his lips and started to whistle. Dodge glared at him for a second, then almost turned pale under his make-up.
Metcalfe laughed. “Still superstitious, Dodge? Well, don’t take it too hard. Let’s see; to whistle in a dressing room is a sign that the man nearest the door will be whistled out of the company. Isn’t that it?”
But the character man stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
“I guess he took the hint,” Klein said. “To my mind, he is the one bore in the company.”
The call boy’s voice came echoing through the hall:
“Third act! Third act!”
Klein, who was on near the opening of the act, rose to his feet.
“That’s me! I almost missed my entrance last night. If I get in late this afternoon, Bond will fine me. I’ll talk with you later, Metcalfe.”