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piece and had an option on all the other music shows in town.
“She’d miss performances and give us all the laugh. It was bad for everybody, bad for the property. So I concentrated on getting Miss Hallor out, and I kept on concentrating, harder and harder.”
Miss O’Ramey’s eyes were all green now with bright opalescent fires.
“And finally she not only stayed away from our shop, but, after leaving us flat, went and sat with the audience at the opening of the Woods Theater. Her doctor said the diversion would be good for her nerves ! I guess he meant nerve. Anyway, she’s out. And now I can have time to concentrate on something amiable.”
Miss O’Ramey looked at me. Her eyes were largely gray now, and I hoped she was giving me a spleenless concentration. I should hate to lose my job just as the easy spring is approaching.
“What would you do, Miss O’Ramey, if you found somebody — say a sister player — concentrating against you?”
“I’d concentrate back at her. I love nothing better than a fight. I’m Irish — via Jewish.”
“Where’d you get your comic touch?”
“Snitched it.”
“Stole ?”
“Yes; swiped, snitched. I imagine I go to bed every night feeling much as our composer, Jerry Kern, does wdien he lays him down and says to himself: ‘That fellow’s song is a go. Now, how can I snitch it and turn it around so as to make it a go for me?’ But at that, Jerry’s the only man in the world wrho can paint the lily and improve it.”