ped in the cuirass three
notches too tight. When we'd got that adjusted he said, "I' faith thou
slayest me, pretty witling. Did I not tell you this production is an
experiment, a novelty? We shall but show _Macbeth_ as it might have
been costumed at the court of King James. In the clothes of the day,
but gaudier, as was then the stage fashion. Hold, dove, I've somewhat
for thee." He fumbled his grouch bag from under his doublet and dipped
finger and thumb in it, and put in my palm a silver model of the
Empire State Building, charm bracelet size, and one of the new
Kennedy dimes.

* * * * *

As I squeezed those two and gloated my eyes on them, feeling securer
and happier and friendlier for them though I didn't at the moment want
to, I thought, _Well, Siddy's right about that, at least I've read
they used to costume the plays that way, though I don't see how
Shakespeare stood it. But it was dirty of them all not to tell me
beforehand._

But that's the way it is. Sometimes I'm the butt as well as the pet of
the dressing room, and considering all the breaks I get I shouldn't
mind. I smiled at Sid and went on tiptoes and necked out my head and
kissed him on a powdery cheek just above an aromatic mustache. Then I
wiped the smile off my face and said, "Okay, Siddy, play Macbeth as
Little Lord Fauntleroy or Baby Snooks if you want to. I'll never
squeak again. But the Elizabeth prologue's still an anachronism.
And--this is the thing I came to tell you, Siddy--Miss Nefer's not
getting ready for any measly prologue. She's set to play Queen
Elizabeth all night and tomorrow morning too. Whatever you think, she
doesn't know we're doing _Macbeth_. But who'll do Lady Mack if she
doesn't? And Martin's not dressing for Malcolm, but for the Son of
the Last of the Mohicans, I'd say. What's more--"

You know, something I said must have annoyed Sid, for he changed his
mood again in a flash. "Shut your jaw, you crook brained cat, and
begone!" he snarled at me. "Here's curtain time close upon us, and you
come like a wittol scattering your mad questions like the crazed
Ophelia her flowers. Begone, I say!"

"Yessir," I whipped out softly. I skittered off toward the door to the
stage, because that was the easiest direction. I figured I could do
with a breath of less grease-painty air. Then, "Oh, Greta," I heard
Martin call nicely.

He'd changed his levis for black tights, and was stepping into and
pulling u