Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
She was seated on the outer rim of the semi-circle, and she stared frankly at Mr Goble. She had never seen anything like him before, and he fascinated her. This behavior on her part singled her out from the throng, and Mr Goble concentrated his attention on her.
"Nor am I playing a knockabout vaudeville sketch." "Don't talk back at me!" "Kindly don't shout at me! Your voice is unpleasant enough without your raising it." Open defiance was a thing which Mr Goble had never encountered before, and for a moment it deprived him of breath. He recovered it, however, almost immediately. "You're fired!" "On the contrary," said Mr Hill, "I'm resigning."
"I think you will find that Omar Khayyam is the ah generally accepted version of the poet's name," said the portrayer of Lord Finchley, adding beneath his breath. "You silly ass!" "You say Omar of Khayyam," bellowed Mr Goble. "Who's running this show, anyway?" "Just as you please." Mr Goble turned to Wally. "These actors . . ." he began, when Mr Pilkington appeared again at his elbow. "Mr Goble!
That's what you can't get these fatheads like Goble to understand. All they go by is the box-office. Why should people flock to pay for seats for what are practically dress rehearsals of an unknown play? Half the principals have had to get up in their parts in two weeks, and they haven't had time to get anything out of them. They are groping for their lines all the time.
I wish her luck!" THE offices of Messrs Goble and Cohn were situated, like everything else in New York that appertains to the drama, in the neighborhood of Times Square. They occupied the fifth floor of the Gotham Theatre on West Forty-second Street.
In his apartment on Park Avenue, Mr Isaac Goble, sniffing the gentle air from the window of his breakfast-room, returned to his meal and his Morning Telegraph with a resolve to walk to the theatre for rehearsal: a resolve which had also come to Jill and Nelly Bryant, eating stewed prunes in their boarding-house in the Forties.
In the presence of one to whom he could relieve his mind without fear of consequences, the stage director became savagely jocular. "That's all arranged," he said. "We're going to dress the carpenters in skirts. The audience won't notice anything wrong." "Should I speak to Mr Goble?" queried Mr Saltzburg doubtfully. "Yes, if you don't value your life," returned the stage director.
But Fillmore wouldn't put her name up over the theatre in electrics, and Goble and Cohn made it a clause in her contract that they would, so nothing else mattered. People are like that." "But Elsa... She used not to be like that." "They all get that way. They must grab success if it's to be grabbed. I suppose you can't blame them. You might just as well expect a cat to keep off catnip.
"Jews' finery!" shouted the captain, with his fingers on his sword. But the stranger held up a hand deprecatingly. "'Pon my oath, Goble, I gave you credit for more penetration," he drawled; "you may be right about the Scotchman, but your longshore lout has had both birth and breeding, or I know nothing."
Mr Goble was aware that the dance-director's services would be badly needed in the re-arrangement of the numbers during the coming week or so, and he knew that there were a dozen managers waiting eagerly to welcome him if he threw up his present job, so he had been obliged to approach him in quite a humble spirit and enquire which of his female chorus could be most easily spared.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking