What is it this time--the
diamond star the blonde queen in Upper E was wearin'?"

"A right-hand, number five and a half--white stitchin'."

"Can you beat it? And you ain't never had a claim yet at the
box-office."

"I knew my luck would break, Lulu. My little brother Jimmie says if you
break a comb your luck breaks with it. I broke one this morning. Whatta
you bet now I begin to match every one of my five left-hand gloves,
without a claim from the office?"

"Lucky kid!"

Conversation curved from gallery to loge box, and from loge to balcony.

"Gee! Look at this amber butterfly! I seen it in her hair when I steered
her down the aisle. She must be stuck on something about this
show--third time this week, and not on paper, neither."

"Amber, is it, Sadie? I'll trade you for the tortoise-shell one I found
in G 4; amber'll go swell with my hair."

"Whatta you bet she claims it?"

"Nix."

"Say, did you hear Wheelan flivver her big scene to-night? I was dozin'
in the foyer and she tripped over her cue so hard she woke me up."

"I should say so! I was standing next to the old man, and he let out a
line of talk that was some fireworks; he said a super in the mob scene
could take her place and beat her at pickin' up cues."

"Ready, Sadie?"

"Yes; wait till I turn in one gent's muffler and a red curl."

"Are you done up there, too, Essie?"

"Yes; but you needn't wait for me, Loo. If you're in a hurry I'll see
you down in the locker-room."

Seats slammed; laughter drifted; searchlights danced and flashed out as
though suddenly doused with water; and the gold, crystal, velvet, and
marble interior of the Stuyvesant Theater suddenly vanished into its
imminent wimple of blackness.

In the bare-walled locker-room Miss Essie Birdsong leaned to her
reflection in the twelve-inch wavy mirror and ran a fine pencil-line
along the curves of her eyebrows.

"Is this right, Loo?"

"Swell! Your eyes look two shades darker."

"Gee!"

Miss Birdsong smiled and leaned closer.

"The girls all out, Loo?"

"Yeh; hurry up and lemme have that mirror, Ess--Harry gets as glum as
glue if I keep him waiting."

Miss Pope adjusted a too-small hat with a too-long pheasant's wing
cocked at a too-rakish angle on her brass-colored hair, and powdered at
her powdered cheek-bones.

"Here--you can have the mirror first, Loo. I--I ain't in a hurry
to-night. You and Harry better go on and not wait round for me."

Miss Pope placed her lo