“I will read his part then,” decides the producer, “Enter George Danesh. ‘Clara, something unexpected has happened to me.’”
Nothing happens.
“Damn it,” shouts the producer, “where’s Clara?”
No answer.
“Where’s Madame X?”
“Perhaps she’s ill,” suggests a voice miserably.
“She’s acting at another theatre,” says some one else.
“Yesterday morning Mary was telling me that . . .” some one begins to relate, “that . . .”
“All right, then, I’ll read Clara’s part,” sighs the producer, and races through the dialogue between George Danesh and Clara as though all the devils in hell were at his heels. No one listens to him at all. At the other end of the table a low-voiced conversation begins.
“Enter Katie,” gasps the producer finally, and takes a deep breath.
31
