“Oh, meet me in the Val-ley
The hap-py Val-ley,”
interpolated with back-chat to the front rows of the stalls, there was a movement towards repose and attention to this appealing picture.
“Come on, Charl, while there’s a chance, case there’s a fire.”
“No; ’alf a mo’, Perce. Ain’t no fire. I’m going to watch this. Looks like being funny. Got some pluck, y’know, that youngster.”
She stamped along the stage in a cloud of lace and tossing frock; then, seeing that they were still moving and, in the far reaches, struggling, she loosened her heel and suddenly—off went one shoe to the wings, prompt side. Off went the other to the wings, o.p. This bit of business attracted the attention of Charl and Perce and others. They closed in. Now it was heel-and-toe dancing, and suddenly a small hand shot to her knee. Off came a little crimson garter. With an airy turn of her bare and white-powdered arm she sent it spinning into the stalls.
“Scramble for it, darlings!”
“I’ll—tell—you—how I love you—
Down in the Valley.”
The wicked little head ogled, now here, now there.