Hitherto it had eluded her eager hands, although she had paid for it in advance with something more than blood and energy.

"Dear old Tootles," he said, "what's happened?
Try and tell me what's happened?
I don't understand." "You don't understand, because you don't know the tricks of this rotten theater.

For eleven weeks I've been rehearsing.

For eleven weeks--time enough to produce a couple of Shakespeare's bally plays in Latin,--I've put up with the brow-beating of that mad dog Jackrack.

For eleven weeks, without touching one dirty little Mosely cent, I've worked at my part and numbers, morning, noon and night; and now, on the edge of production, he cuts me out and puts in a simpering cow with a fifteen-thousand-dollar necklace and a snapping little Pekinese to oblige one of his angels, and I'm reduced to the chorus.