“What! Izzy!”
“Sure, Izzy.”
“Well!”
“He’s just landed the hat-check privilege at the St Aurea!”
“You don’t say!”
“He told me so last night and promised me the sunburst. He was,” admitted the willowy girl regretfully, “a good bit tanked at the time, but I guess he’ll make good.” She mused awhile, a rather anxious expression clouding her perfect profile. She looked like a meditative Greek Goddess. “If he doesn’t,” she added with maidenly dignity, “it’s the las’ time I go out with the big stiff. I’d tie a can to him quicker’n look at him!”
A murmur of approval greeted this admirable sentiment.
“Childrun!” protested Mr Saltzburg. “Chil-drun! Less noise and chatter of conversation. We are here to work! We must not waste time! So! Act One, Opening Chorus. Now, all together. La-la-la …”
“La-la-la …”
“Tum-tum-tumty-tumty …”