Crazy Radio eBooks

They had never had any music to sing from but there
had been half a dozen mimeograph copies of the words to the songs, which
the girls had put their heads together over in groups of three or four,
and more or less learned. What had become of this dope, and whether it
was still available for Rose in case she were animated by a purely
supererogatory desire to study it, the girl didn't know.
She was a pale-haired girl, whom Rose thought she had heard addressed as
Larson, and she had emerged rather slowly as an individual personality,
out of the ruck of the chorus; a fact in her favor, really, because the
girls who had first driven themselves home to Rose through the shell of
her intense preoccupation with doing what John Galbraith wanted, had
been the vividly and viciously objectionable ones. The thing that had
prompted her to sit down beside Larson and, with this question about how
one learned the words to the songs, take her first real step toward an
acquaintance, was an absence of any strong dislike, rather than the
presence of a real attraction.


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