They dance
there. At first they said there was not a table to be had--Saturday
night, you know--but I told them who was to be with us, and they changed
their minds."
"Good. I'll be dressed in a little while. Silk hats?"
He nodded. I returned to my own room.
Less than an hour later, my toilet completed, I rejoined him, and
together we descended, in full regalia, to the lobby.
"Shall we take a taxi?" he suggested, as we passed out of the side
entrance.
"How far away is the theater?"
"I don't know."
We asked the carriage starter. He said it was only two or three blocks.
"Let's walk," I said.
"I don't feel like walking," he returned.
We rode.
The theater was just emptying when we arrived.
"I suppose we'd better let the cab go?" I said. "There'll be quite a
while to wait while she's changing."
"Better keep it," he disagreed. "Might not find another."
We kept it.
At the stage door there was confusion. Having completed its week in
Washington, the play was about to move elsewhere, and furniture was
already coming out into the narrow passage, and being piled up to be
taken on wagons to the train. It took us some time to find the doorman,
and it took the doorman--as it always does take doormen--a long, long
time to depart into the unknown region of dressing rooms, with the cards
we gave him, and a still longer time to return.
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