"I'm not accustomed, Mr. Vee, to being disturbed by dancers."
Ken heard the remark plainly. He stopped, glared at Jack, then wheeled about and strode into the wings. In a moment Howard was by his side.
"I'm through," Ken told him.
"He's a Cockney fish peddler putting on airs," Howard said. "Smack him one, after the show opens."
"I'm through," Ken repeated. Howard grasped his arm. He pushed Ken into a dressing-room and closed the door.
"I mean it," Ken said. "I just learned I'm to do one specialty and two choruses of a finale."
"That's not true," Howard retorted. "We're putting the first act dance into the ice-breaker. You can do a reprise later."
"Whose idea was it?" Ken demanded.
"The Farraguts."
"What's the use?" Ken said. "I didn't want to work in this show. You tricked me into signing—"
"I did not," Howard interrupted. "You signed voluntarily."
"You came to Leon's that day—"
"Because I heard you'd gone mad."
Ken was cold with anger.
"You heard what …?"
"Ken," Howard said. "I still care more for you than for anyone in the world. I understand you, too. Crystal clear you are. Glass. And like glass, brittle, easily broken."
"Nice words."
"True words. You are here because I don't want you to ruin yourself."
Face to face with this truth, Ken winced. It was easy
