Crazy Radio eBooks

"Rehearsal at
eight-thirty."
Five of them scurried like children let out of school, around behind the
set of screens that made an extemporaneous dressing-room, and began
changing in a mad scramble, hoping to get away and to get their dinners
eaten soon enough to enable them to see the whole bill at a movie show
before the evening's rehearsal.
But Rose didn't avail herself of her dismissal--remained hanging about,
a couple of paces away from where Galbraith was talking to Mrs.
Goldsmith. The only question that remained, he was telling her, was
whether her selections were not too--well, too refined, genteel, one
might say, for the stage. Regretfully he confessed he was a little
afraid they were. It needed a certain crudity to withstand the glare of
the footlights and until these gowns had been submitted to that glare,
one couldn't be sure.
He wasn't looking at her as he talked, and presently, as his gaze
wandered about the store, it encountered Rose's face. She hadn't
prepared it for the encounter, and it wore, hardly veiled, a look of
humorous appreciation.


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