“Don’t make me laugh!” she pleaded. “What’s wrong with it? What’s right with it, one would feel more inclined to ask!”
“One would feel thtill more inclined,” said the Cherub, “to athk why one was thuch a chump as to let oneself in for this sort of thing when one hears on all sides that waitresses earn thixty dollars a month.”
“The numbers are all right,” argued Babe. “I don’t mean the melodies, but Johnny has arranged some good business.”
“He always does,” said the Southern girl. “Some more buckwheat cakes, please. But what about the book?”
“I never listen to the book.”
The Cherub laughed.
“You’re too good to yourself! I listened to it right along and take it from me it’s sad! Of courthe they’ll have it fixed. We can’t open in New York like this. My professional reputation wouldn’t thtand it! Didn’t you thee Wally Mason in front, making notes? They’ve got him down to do the rewriting.”
Jill, who had been listening in a dazed way to the conversation, fighting against the waves of sleep which flooded over her, woke up.
“Was Wally—was Mr Mason there?”
“Sure. Sitting at the back.”