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Updated: May 5, 2025
There was no Pulatki in the wings to call her down for extra flourishes; there was no old white face in the orchestra to disturb her conscience. Her chance for a good time had come at last, and she was rushing to meet it with arms outstretched. "They are getting ready for the grand march!" cried Monte, who, with Mac, represented the "two Dromios."
It would have been more fun to try new tricks, but on this point Pulatki was adamant. "I vant zat you do ze same act, no more, no less, see?" he demanded of her, fiercely. When the encore came, and at Reeser's command she snatched off her bear's head and made her funny, awkward, little bow, she involuntarily glanced down at the orchestra. Mr.
Pulatki was a nervous Italian with long black hair and a drooping black mustache, both of which suffered harsh treatment in moments of dramatic frenzy. His business in life was to make forty lively, mischievous girls move and sing as one. The sin of sins to him, in a chorus girl, was individuality. "You! new girl!" he screamed the moment he spied Nance, "you are out of ze line.
Then she added with a smile, "I wish you'd give me a chance." "She's a awful cute little dancer," Birdie recommended. "She knows all the steps in the Red-Bird chorus. I taught her when I was here before. If you'd say a word to Mr. Pulatki he might try her out at rehearsal this morning." Nance held her breath while Reeser's quizzical eyes continued to study her. "All right!" he said suddenly.
"Flossy Pierson's sprained her ankle." "Ze leetle bear?" shrieked Pulatki; then he clutched his hair in both hands and raved maledictions on the absent Flossy. "See here," said Reeser, "this is no time for fireworks. Who in the devil is to take her place?" "Zere is none," wailed Pulatki. "She make her own part. I cannot teach it." "It's not the part that bothers me," said Reeser.
Reeser, it fits! it fits!" For the rest of the morning Nance practised her part, getting used to the clumsy suit of fur, learning to adjust her mask so that she could see through the little, round, animal eyes, and keeping the other girls in a titter of amusement over her surreptitious imitation of the irascible Pulatki.
"She is so fresh, so fresh!" groaned Pulatki from the wings. "She's alive," said Reeser. "She'll never make a show girl, and she's got no voice to speak of. But she's got a personality that climbs right over the footlights. I'm going to engage her for the rest of the season."
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