You could tell from the way he counted that
something was gathering itself up, getting ready to happen. "Three ...
Four ... Five ... Six ... Seven ... _Now!_" he shouted on the eighth
bar, and with the word, one of the groups transformed itself. One of the
men bowed to one of the girls and began waltzing with her; another
couple formed, then another.
Rose watched breathlessly, hoping the maneuver wouldn't go wrong;--for
no reason in the world but that the man, there at the footlights, was so
tautly determined that it shouldn't.
Determination triumphed. The number was concluded to John Galbraith's
evident satisfaction. "Very good," he said. "If you'll all do exactly
what you did that time from now on, I'll not complain." Without a pause
he went on, "Everybody on the stage--big girls--all the big girls!" And,
to the young man at the piano, "We'll do _Afternoon Tea_." There was a
momentary pause then, filled with subdued chatter, while the girls and
men re-alined themselves for the new number--a pause taken advantage of
by an exceedingly blond young man to scramble up on the stage and make a
few remarks to the director.
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