The Humorist
Miss Fitzgerald murmured a choked assent. I unfolded "The Stage," and in time, marked with a blue-pencil cross, I found this:
Wanted for No. 2 Company, pianist, soubrette, and 2 comedians. No red-nosed comedians or yak-yaks need apply. Wallace Lappin, P. O. Neath, S. W.
"What is a yak-yak?" I asked in bewildered tones.
"I don't know," Drusilla said, "and neither does she. I asked her if she thought she might possibly be one, but she says no. She is a soubrette."
"Sparkling comedienne." The soubrette gave another sob before she went on: "He's a fraud! Wanted to get a crowd together, and show one night, then scarper. I've met his sort before."
The ready flow of her professional slang showed how far she had drifted from the parental rectory.
"Poor child!" Drusilla, aged twenty-two, stroked the ruffled brown hair kindly.
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