"They are running the Lazy A series, you know,--to capacity houses, too, they tell me.

Shall we get out ?" The chauffeur reached back with that gesture of toleration and infinite boredom common to his kind and swung open the door.
Robert Grant Burns started up.

"Come on, Jean," he said eagerly.

"I don't suppose that eternal calm of yours will ever show a wrinkle on the surface, but let's have a look, anyway." Pete Lowry was already out and half way across the pavement.

Pete had lain awake in his bed, many's the night, planning the posing of "stills" that would show Jean at her best; he had visioned them on display in theater lobbies, and now he collided with a hurrying shopper in his haste to see the actual fulfillment of those plans.
Jean herself was not so eager.