All the actors looked at her with interest, the actresses with disdain.  One whispered to the boy, who shook his head.

“Say, what you wid?” he asked her later.

“I don’t understand you.”

His look became suspicious.  “What show you with?”

“With ‘Success,’” she answered hastily, patting the manuscript.

“Roadshow?”

“No.”

“Playing New York?”

“Not yet.”

“Gimme two pasteboards when you come to town.  I’d like to see you.”

“All right.  What’s your name?”

“Robert Mantell Moses.  I’m going on, in comic opera, some day.”

“So?” said Bambi.

“Song and dance.  Are you a dancer?”

“I am.”

“Toe or Tango?”

“I beg pardon.”

“Toe dancer, or Tango artist?”

“Oh, I do them both.”

“Do you do the Kitchen Sink?  And the Wash Tub?”

Bambi thought fast.  “Yes.  And the One-legged Smelt.  Also the Jabberwock Jig.”

He inspected her suspiciously.

“Say, those are new ones on me.”  “Really?”

She was thoroughly enjoying herself when the brazen-mouthed clock twanged twelve.

“Goodness!  Is it as late as that?  Claghorn’s ins are mostly outs.”

“Give me that again.”

“You said he was in and out.”

“Nix on the rough stuff.”

“What a lovely phrase!  I must tell that to Jarvis.”

“Who’s Jarvis?  Your steady?”

“No.  He’s a—­relative by marriage.”

“Nix on the ‘in-laws’ for me.”

He suddenly straightened up to attention as a big, fierce-looking man plunged in, nearly demolished the railing in passage, and made for a door marked “Private.”

“Any mail?” he shouted.

“No.  Lady to see you, sir,” the boy replied.

Bambi rose to meet the foe, who never glanced at her.  He jerked open the door, but he was not quick enough for the originator of the Jabberwock Jig.  Her small foot was slid into the space between the door and the threshold.  It was at the risk of losing a valuable member, but she was so angry at being ignored that she never thought of it.  When the gentleman found that the door would not close, he stuck his head out, and nearly kissed Bambi, whose smiling countenance happened to be in the way.

“Well?” he ejaculated.

“Quite well, thank you,” she replied as she slid in the crack.  He looked her over.

“Where did you come from?” he demanded.

“I was out there when you swept the horizon with your eye, but you must have missed me.  I didn’t run up a flag.”

She was so little and so saucy that he had to smile.

“What do you want?” he asked directly.

“I want to talk with you, for about three minutes.”

“I don’t engage people for the shows.”

“I don’t want a job.”

“Well, what do you want?  Talk fast.  My time is precious.”