flat, meant-to-be-kindly voice. "I'll pick you out to be one of the three women on the reception committee. You're to stand at the foot of the stairway and meet the guests as they come down."
"Letcher," he said, turning to his assistant, "speak to me later about a close-up of Eleanor."
"Yes, chief," Letcher replied, making a note of it in a thumbed manuscript.
Eleanor, inspired with new hope, glided away from them, lazily waving her fan.
Bacon was looking at Minnie now.
"Who's this girl?" he called to Letcher without taking his eyes off Minnie. "Has she worked for me before?"
"No, chief," answered Letcher. "A good little type, don't you think?"
"Not bad."
"Thought you might want to single her out for a bit. The kid's clever they tell me."
Minnie fluttered before Bacon's hypnotic gaze like a helpless bird.
"Can you dance?"
She caught herself just in time from saying, "Bet your sweet life I can. . . ."
"Yes, chief," she answered, addressing him with the same marked respect shown him by Letcher.
Bacon smiled and chewed on his heavy blond mustache.
"Very well, young lady. Sit down on the bench over there. I'll call you when I need you."
Minnie imitated as best she could the manner in which Eleanor had bowed, then she sidled out of the scene, slowly waving her fan. She, too, was triumphant.
"Who let that little ass in here?" Bacon asked as soon as she had gone beyond hearing.
