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Star-dust in Hollywood
staircases poured humanity upward, where we came into a raw concrete theatre with deep galleries. So crowded already was the temple that we should have had difficulty in finding seats had not Jo told a superior attendant that we were writers and would probably give the temple % publicity,' which at once smoothed out all our difficulties. We were reminded of the story of a journalist at a similar meeting. " Brother,' ' muttered one of the attendants in his ear, " are you saved? "
"Press," said the journalist.
" I'm sure I beg your pardon," replied the revivalist.
The stage was set with a backcloth representing cottonfields and half of a log cabin, before which the revivalist herself sat, dressed in a wide blue crinoline and a bonnet with cornflowers. Across the proscenium was ranged an orchestra dominated by the heavy mouth of an enormous souzaphone, like some glittering ^Eolus cave of melody. Between the orchestra and the revivalist a negro quartette dressed as cotton-pickers were bawling into a microphone on a tall stand which was connected immediately over their heads to six trumpets — rent, as it were, from their appropriate cherubim — and fixed to a loud-speaker. These trumpets gathered up the voices and flung them about the chapel, competing even with the blares of the souzaphone :
I tell you once,
O yess ! I tell you twice,
Yess, Lord ! There's sinners in hell Fo' shootin' dice,
Sho' dey is.
Didn' hear nobody pray, Didn' hear nobody pray, Down in de Ian' by ma own self, Didn' hear nobody pray.
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