Part 48 (2/2)

Fieldstone began to perspire freely. As a matter of fact he had signed Rossmore for the new show that very morning after an all-night discussion in Sam's, the only restaurant enjoying the confidence of the last munic.i.p.al administration.

”Then how about the guy that wrote the music, Oskar Schottlaender?” he protested weakly. ”That poor come-on don't draw down only ten thousand dollars a week royalties from England, France, and America alone!”

”Of course if you ain't going to give me any credit for what I've done----” Miss Raymond began.

”Ain't I telling you you're the first one I spoke to about this?”

Fieldstone interrupted.

”Oh, is that so?” Miss Raymond said. ”I wonder you didn't offer that Vivian Haig the part, which before I called myself after a highball I'd use my real name, even if it was Katzberger.”

”I told you before, kid, Vivian Haig goes with the Rudolph Number Two Company next month to play the same part as she does now; and you know as well as I do it ain't no better than walking on and off in the second act--that's all.”

”Then you'd oughter learn her to walk, Mont,” Miss Raymond said as she rose from her chair. ”She fell all over herself last night.”

”I know it,” Fieldstone said, without s.h.i.+fting from his desk. ”She ain't got nothing to do and she can't do that!”

Miss Raymond attempted what a professional producer had told her was a bitter laugh. It turned out to be a snort.

”Well, I can't stay here all day talking about people like Haig,” she announced. ”I got a date with my dressmaker in a quarter of an hour.”

”All right, Goldie,” Fieldstone said, still seated. ”Take care of yourself, kid, and I'll see you after the show to-night.”

He watched her as she disappeared through the doorway and sighed heavily--but not for love, because the domestic habits of a lifetime in the waist business are not to be so easily overcome. Indeed, theatrical beauty, with all its allurements, reposed in Fieldstone's office as free from temptation to the occupant as thousand dollar bills in a paying-teller's cage.

What if he did call Miss Goldie Raymond ”kid”? He meant nothing by it.

In common with all other theatrical managers he meant nothing by anything he ever said to actors or playwrights, unless it appeared afterward that he ought to have meant it and would stand to lose money by not meaning it.

The telephone bell rang and he lifted the receiver from its hook.

”Who d'ye say?” he said after a pause. ”Well, see if Raymond is gone down the elevator, and if it's all right tell her I'll see her.”

A moment later a side door opened--not the door by which Miss Raymond had departed--and a young woman of determined though graceful and alluring deportment entered.

”Well,” she said, ”how about it, Mont? Do I get it or don't I?”

”Sit down, kid,” Fieldstone said, himself seated; for he had not risen at his visitor's entrance. ”How goes it, sweetheart?”

It is to be understood that ”sweetheart” in this behalf had no more significance than ”kid.” It was a synonym for ”kid” and nothing else.

”Rossmore says you're going to play Raymond in the new piece,” she went on, ignoring his question; ”and you know you told me----”

”Now listen here, kid,” he said, ”you ain't got no kick coming. In 'Rudolph' you've got a part that's really the meaty part of the whole piece. I watched your performance from behind last night, kid, and I hope I may die if I didn't say to Raymond that it was immense and you were running her out of the business. I thought she'd throw a fit!”

”Then I do get the part in the new piece?” Miss Vivian Haig insisted--for it was none other than herself.

”Well, it's like this,” Fieldstone explained: ”If you play another season with 'Rudolph,' and----”

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