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Updated: June 29, 2025
Believe me, she'd fit any chorus." "Why don't you ask Bergman?" Mr. Regan shook his hairless head. "He's dippy on 'types. This show's full of 'em: real blondes, real brunettes, bold and dashin' ones, tall and statelies, blushers, shrinkers, laughers, and sadlings. He won't stand for make-up; he wants 'em with the dew on. They've got to look natural for Bergman. That's some of 'em now."
"It's in to-day's orders, so we're here to offer congrats. The battalion's doing well a D.S.O., two M.C.'s and five D.C.M.'s; not a bad record, eh, what?" "Yes, the show's over as far as we are concerned," added Laxdale. "We marched in yesterday. It was a jolly satisfactory piece of work that final attack on Fritz's position." "Sorry I hadn't a hand in it," remarked Wilmshurst.
If you've never done it before you must do it now. Remember that you wanted to help me. Well, now you can do it but remember that if you give way so that people notice you, then the show's up. They'll be asking questions they'll watch you and you'll have done for me. Otherwise there's no risk whatever no risk whatever.
Ordinarily, give a showman the first week or two of the show's route and he will tell you just what parts of the country the show will visit during that particular season. The performers were unable to do so in this instance. Phil Forrest was as much perplexed as the others, but he made no mention of this to Mr. Sparling. "He has some surprise up his sleeve, I am sure," decided Phil shrewdly.
"Show's over," Charley said, more curtly than he meant. He took a deep breath and set his feet more firmly on the platform, but it didn't do any good. He was like a coiled spring, waiting for release. "I don't expect any show," Santa Claus said. "Really I don't. But I did want to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don't mind." "I'm not in a talking mood," Charley said. "Sorry."
Sparling with a twinkle in his eyes, "but I will try to arrange so you get another." "You will?" "Yes." "Thank you; thank you." "I am having the show's carpenter make one out of wood." "I can't eat a wooden egg," protested Teddy. "Why not? You were going to eat the ostrich egg. The wooden one will give you indigestion no quicker than the other would have done."
Phil soon came to, and by that time the show's doctor had arrived, having been in attendance on the wounded animal trainer. "No; he'll be sore for a few days, but there's nothing dangerous about those scratches, I should say. I'll dress the wounds and he can go on about his business," was the surgeon's verdict. "I've got to ride Emperor in tonight," objected Phil. "You'll do nothing of the sort.
F'r th' prisint I'll devote me attintion to makin' a noise in th' sthreets an' studyin' human nature." "Ye'd be a lively ol' buck over there," said Mr. Hennessy, admiringly. "Tis a good thing ye can't go." "It is so," said Mr. Dooley. "I'm glad I have no millyonaire rilitives to be depindent on me f'r support whin th' show's over." "I see," said Mr.
Armstrong right up and down and flat-footed that you can't stand any more of her? I'd like to hear you say it. Let me know when the show's goin' to come off. I want a seat in the front row." Poor Jed looked aghast at the very idea. His friend laughed derisively and walked off and left him.
Show's y'r receipt." Donovan had nothing to say; he preferred to be silent. "Then," Dad went on, "clear out of this as fast as you can go, an' think y'rself lucky." He cleared, but on foot. Dad gazed after him, and, as he left the paddock, said: "One too many f' y' that time, Mick Donovan!"
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