nth."

"The numbers are all right," argued Babe. "I don't mean the melodies,
but Johnny has arranged some good business."

"He always does," said the Southern girl. "Some more buckwheat cakes,
please. But what about the book?"

"I never listen to the book."

The Cherub laughed.

"You're too good to yourself! I listened to it right along, and take
it from me it's sad! Of courthe they'll have it fixed. We can't open
in New York like this. My professional reputation wouldn't thtand it!
Didn't you thee Wally Mason in front, making notes? They've got him
down to do the re-writing."

Jill, who had been listening in a dazed way to the conversation,
fighting against the waves of sleep which flooded over her, woke up.

"Was Wally--was Mr. Mason there?"

"Sure. Sitting at the back."

Jill could not have said whether she was glad or sorry. She had not
seen Wally since that afternoon when they had lunched together at the
Cosmopolis, and the rush of the final weeks of rehearsals had given
her little opportunity for thinking of him. At the back of her mind
had been the feeling that sooner or later she would have to think of
him, but for two weeks she had been too tired and too busy to
re-examine him as a factor in her life. There had been times when the
thought of him had been like the sunshine on a winter day, warming her
with almost an impersonal glow in moments of depression. And then some
sharp, poignant memory of Derek would come to blot him out.

She came out of her thoughts to find that the talk had taken another
turn.

"And the wortht of it is," the Cherub was saying, "we shall rehearthe
all day and give a show every night and work ourselves to the bone,
and then, when they're good and ready, they'll fire one of us!"

"That's right!" agreed the Southern girl.

"They couldn't!" Jill cried.

"You wait!" said the Cherub. "They'll never open in New York with
thirteen girls. Ike's much too thuperstitious."

"But they wouldn't do a thing like that after we've all worked so
hard!"

There was a general burst of sardonic laughter. Jill's opinion of the
chivalry of theatrical managers seemed to be higher than that of her
more experienced colleagues.

"They'll do anything," the Cherub assured her.

"You don't know the half of it, dearie," scoffed Lois Denham. "You
don't know the half of it!"

"Wait till you've been in as many shows as I have," said Babe, shaking
her red locks. "The usual thing is to keep a girl