"Sure! The first job I ever went out for I could 'a' had. Five sides to the part--two songs and a specialty solo, but, instead, I hit him flop across the cheek with my glove and walked out, leavin' him staggerin' and my engagement layin' on the floor. I--I ain't preachin' to you, honey--I'm just tellin'! Every girl in this business has got to decide for herself--I ain't sayin' one thing or the other." "Ysobel--hit who across the cheek--hit who?" "Take it from me, honey, and remember I ain't tryin' to sing you the 'Saint's Serenade,' but take it from me, if I was startin' all over again--way back where you are--I--I'd do the glove act over again. I would, honey, I would, and I ain't preachin', neither." "Honest to Gawd, Ysobel; I don't know what--" "Ain't I told you to cut out that ingenoo with me--honest, it gets on my nerves! Watch out, there!" "Gee; that scart me!" "Them are pay-as-you-exit taxi-cabs we're dodging. The chorus-girls' sun-parlors, if you listen to the Sunday supplements and funny papers." "The time we--came--John--was a great one for watchin' them." "Take it from me that about all nine out of ten of us gay la-la girls you read about, get out of 'em, is watchin'. All we know about them is dodgin' them after the show to get home in a hurry, stick our feet in hot water to get some of the ache out, and fall into bed too tired to smear the cold-cream off." "Watch out, there, Ysobel!" "The truth about the chorus-girl would cripple the box-office and put the feature supplements and press-agents out of business. Here we are, Della--I got to stop off at nine just a minute, and you wait outside for me; remember when we get up to eleven--Western circuit, silent principal and--" "Western circuit--Western circuit!" The Putney Building reared nineteen white-tile, marble-facaded stories straight up from the most expensive heart-acreage of Broadway and stemmed the Thespian tide that rushed in from every side and surged against its booking-offices. A bronze elevator the size of a Harlem bedroom and crowded to its capacity shot them upward with the breath-taking flight of a frightened bird. Ysobel crowded into a corner and nudged a youthful-looking old man in a blue-and-white striped collar and too much bay-rum. "Hello, Eddie!" "Hello yourself, Ysobel." "How are yuh?" "Ain't braggin'." "What you doin', Eddie?" "Rehearsin' with a act." "Musical?" "No." "Specialty?" "No--er--high-class burlesque--two a day." "Oh!" "You workin', Ysobel?" "Got three things danglin'--ain't signed yet. Just came in last week." "S'long." "S'long. Come on, Della. Watch out there, Eddie--a fellow burnt a hole in my friend lookin' at her like that once." A titter ran around the elevator, and the old young man writhed in his blue-striped collar. "'Sh-h-h, Ysobel; everybody heard you." A rosily opalescent hue swam high into Della's face as she stepped out of the elevator, and dyed her neck.