“Listen, Freddie!” said Wally feverishly. “On some other occasion I should dearly love to hear the story of your life, but just now …”
“Absolutely, old man. You’re perfectly right. Well, to cut a long story short, Nelly Bryant told me that she and Jill were rehearsing with a piece called ‘The Rose of America.’”
“‘The Rose of America!’”
“I think that was the name of it.”
“That’s Ike Goble’s show. He called me up on the phone about it half an hour ago. I promised to go and see a rehearsal of it tomorrow or the day after. And Jill’s in that?”
“Yes. How about it? I mean, I don’t know much about this sort of thing, but do you think it’s the sort of thing Jill ought to be doing?”
Wally was moving restlessly about the room. Freddie’s news had disquieted him. Mr Goble had a reputation.
“I know a lot about it,” he replied, “and it certainly isn’t.” He scowled at the carpet. “Oh, damn everybody!”
Freddie paused to allow him to proceed, if such should be his wish, but Wally had apparently said his say. Freddie went on to point out an aspect of the matter which was troubling him greatly.
“I’m sure poor old Derek wouldn’t like her being in the chorus!”