Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/125

Rh "Intuition, Colonel. If you aren't a Kentucky Colonel by birth, you should have been."

"I am, suh. I was weaned on bourbon whiskey and asses' milk. Come on in."

The backstage throbbed with life. Eager, alert boys and girls crowded the corridors. A chorus call was taking place.

"I'll fix you up with a dressing-room. So you're a dancer."

"How'd you know?"

"I can tell by the shape of your nose—flat, acrobatic; long, soft shoe; narrow—like yours—a trick waltz team; light comedy with drawing room flavor?"

"Right you are, Colonel."

"You from Mr. Shaw?"

"I don't exactly issue from his … loins."

"Eh?"

"Yes."

"Go upstairs to dressing-room number four."

Ken bounded up the narrow stairs, as the doorman switched on the lights.

"Tiny house," Ken remarked as the Colonel wheezingly appeared.

"Intimate theatre, son," the old man corrected him. "We call this the home of intimate musical comedy. Mr. Colman built it. George Drury nearly ruined it. Now young Mr. Vee has it and if I remember my English accent, 'e looks to be a bit of all right."

Ken laughed. "Actor?"

The doorman winked. "Was." Then he asked. "Adagio team?"

Ken shook his head. "No muscles. Here's a quarter for you, Colonel."