XII
KEN and Norah danced before Howard's staff. Henry Colman stood on the balcony steps. Jules Monroe followed their routine with keen attention. In the wings, chorus boys and girls stood rigidly watching.
Norah was never better. Ken did not think he was at his best. He detected flaws in his work. He felt himself over-eager.
"Do you read lines?" Howard Vee, with inscrutable face asked when the dance ended.
"I played the second juvenile in Chicago."
"Meet me upstairs," the producer ordered.
The conference was short and to the point. Vee offered five hundred dollars a week for the team.
"And you can sign for two years with me," Leon Shaw added. Then to Howard: "I'll have your contract with Mr. Gracey ready for you tomorrow."
Dusk was falling as they spoke. Howard switched on a dim lamp. Norah sat, hands folded in her lap, happiness shining through her warm brown eyes.
New York pounded and hammered outside the window. Two hundred and twenty-five dollars a week net—New York could be his—the street, strange arteries congested with strangers, would soon be friendly with familiar faces; he would live no more in a cheap Eighth Avenue hotel; he would buy clothes; he would become a famous dancer. He would—
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