Sally, I can't tell you how happy I am!

Much love, old dear,

JANE.

P.S. II. I read the act to Michael Daragh and he set the seal of his
sober approval on it. He thinks I'm going personally to uplift the
two-a-day.

CHAPTER IV

_Friday._

DEAREST SALLY:

It just happened that they need a new sketch act, so they cast "ONE
CROWDED HOUR" at once and it is already in rehearsal.

BROTHER is excellent, a wistful-eyed, shabby youth who really looks
convincingly ill and coughs in a way to carry conviction. Oh, but THE
GIRL! My quaint New England spinster is gone and with her all the
point of my playlet. They've given the part to a blooming, buxom,
down-to-the-minute young person, late of "Oh, You Kewpie-Kid!" (in
the chorus) and frankly contemptuous of this role. And THE MAN--the
bandit--a fair-haired canary, an inch shorter than she is! They
quarrel like fishwives and scold about the number of "sides" each
other has, and refuse to play up prettily, and I'm heartsick over it
all, Sally. The producing agent says it would be utterly impossible
to "put it over" with the characters as I wrote it. He was fairly
mild and merciful with me (thanks to Rodney, I daresay) but
unbudgably firm, and at every rehearsal some touch of coyness or
kittenishness is added. As an elixir of youth, I recommend him.

The girl patronizes me until I am ready to fling myself on the floor
and squeal with rage. "Listen, girlie," she cooes, "don't you worry
about this lil' ol' act! You leave it to me, hon'! I'll put the
raisin in it!"

Rodney Harrison is hugely amused at my woe. He says I must remember
that you can't slip the Idylls of the King in between the Black-faced
Comedian and the Elephant Act. I suppose I must just bear it,
grinning if possible, until I have won my footing and then I won't
allow so much as a comma to be changed.

BROTHER is a dear. He opened his heart and gave me a five-act play of
his own to read. The stage business is much funnier than the
dialogue. After a melting moment he has--"Exeunt Mother." The old
lady was clearly beside herself. Also me.

Wearily,

JANE.

_Tuesday._

DEAR SALLY,

We open Thursday afternoon at a weird little try-out theater 'way
downtown. I am like to perish of weariness and