Likely they'll be in on the ten-thirteen. I'll send 'em up
the minute they get in."
"I wish you would. I've got to get my stuff out early. I can't keep
customers waiting for me. Late, as it is."
She approached the clerk once more. "Anything at the theaters?"
"Well, nothing much, Mrs. McChesney. Christmas coming on kind of puts
a crimp in the show business. Nice little bill on at the Majestic, if
you like vaudeville."
"Crazy about it. Always get so excited watching to see if the next act
is going to be as rotten as the last one. It always is."
From eight-fifteen until ten-thirty Mrs. McChesney sat absolutely
expressionless while a shrill blonde lady and a nasal dark gentleman
went through what the program ironically called a "comedy sketch,"
followed by a chummy person who came out in evening dress to sing a
sentimental ditty, shed the evening dress to reappear in an ankle-
length fluffy pink affair; shucked the fluffy pink affair for a
child's pinafore, sash, and bare knees; discarded the kiddie frock,
disclosing a bathing-suit; left the bathing-suit behind the wings in
favor of satin knee-breeches and tight jacket--and very discreetly
stopped there, probably for no reason except to give way to the next
act, consisting of two miraculously thin young men in lavender dress
suits and white silk hats, who sang and clogged in unison, like two
things hung on a single wire.
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