Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/67

Rh "Gooda-goda," barked Anita, "we are next to closing."

"Is that good?" Ken asked.

"When the closing act is Cecil B. De Mille's 'King of Kings,' it couldn't be worse. I should have done a Salome routine and brought your head on-stage in a soup tureen." The box-office was not yet open. The office door was locked. Back stage they happened upon a wizened, wrinkled old gentleman who announced that he was Sam Anderson, father of Joe Anderson, the house manager.

At last Ken penetrated the mysteries of the theatre. Sam Anderson pointed the way to their dressing-room.

"One room enough?" he asked.

"Plenty," said Anita.

Ken followed her across the gloomy stage to a corridor. She unlocked the door of a narrow frigid cell. Two dressing tables, two chairs, a wardrobe, a barred window.

"Looks like the jail house to me," she said, "but I s'pose it's heaven to you, Buster."

"I like it."

"The orchestra will be here at twelve o'clock," Sam Anderson said. "Got your contracts with you?"

Ken nodded.

"Ed Feinberg will be down, I think," said Anderson.

Anita laughed. "To see us break in? Who told you?"

"He wrote me when he sent Joe the contract."

After the old man had left, Ken asked her who Ed Feinberg was.

"The agent, silly. The man who made us what we are today. I don't think he'll come this far to see us perform. Come, let's get into some practise clothes."

"You first," Ken said.

"Listen here, what do you think I am?" she exploded.