“Give her some of those lines in the mob scenes,” thundered Littleton. “What are some of them, Wilson?”
Wilson repeated a few of the speeches with characteristic stage-manager delivery, while Littleton’s eyes hurried down the page of a letter. After a short silence, he looked up to demand, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“I’m not going to say those lines, Mr. Littleton.” Vinnie was standing erect, with a nonchalantly determined smile on her face.
Nonplussed, Littleton glared at her almost as if he were trying to misunderstand her. The star, already on her feet, tactfully intervened.
“Oh, Vinnie, you don’t realize what a wonderful opportunity this is, my dear! Why, Mr.—”
“It’s just because I do realize it, Miss Dover, that I’m not—”
“What’s the matter with those lines?” Littleton barked it out.
Vinnie regarded the manager listlessly. Slowly an ironic smile crept over her face. “Oh, they’re fine,” she finally said, “if all you want is to show intelligence and a good loud voice. But I happen to want to show more. And if this is such a wonderful opportunity, as Miss Dover says, then why should I waste it on such lines as ‘The ropes! Hand me the ropes!’ and ‘Oh, look at the pretty fool!’ I’m sorry, Mr. Littleton, but—” Vinnie stopped abruptly. Her face changed to a delightfully whimsical, far-away expression. “Those lines are too skimpy. There’s not nearly enough room in them for what I’ve got in me to show you, Mr. Littleton.”
Fear, eagerness, and anxiety had vanished in this expression of herself. Littleton! Why, he might have been a scene-shifter, for all she cared, despite the puzzled wonder and growing interest that now lurked behind his cold managerial veil. The amazed, questioning face of Sarah Dover—“Can this be Vinnie?”—caused only a secret smile. Vinnie Smith boldly flung reason to the winds, and, calling up every hidden charm she possessed, intuitively scented her way to success.
A grunt and a few curt words from the manager urged her on.