Mackwayte
called "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself.
Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric
current running between the audience and the comedian who, with
the quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going through
his business on the stage. As he made each of his carefully
studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed
to come from the towering tiers of humanity before him,
stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed and
spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone
was at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive
little figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights
tracked about the stage.
It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great
feeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be.
Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a stranger
amongst the top-liners of today, my dear," he had said to her in
the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready for
she had feared he spoke the truth.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29