The Benson signal., 1918-01-26
CHAPTER XVI.
The First Day.

The First Day.
With her umbrella over her shoul-
der, Rose set sail northward again
through the rain, absurdly cheered.
The entrance to the North End hall
was a pair Of white painted doors
opening from the street level up
on the foot Of a broadish stair
which took you up rather suddenly.
back in a kitchen chair beneath a
single gas jet whose light he was try
ing to make, suffice for the perusal Of
green newspaper, sat a man, under
orders, no doubt, to keep intruders
away. The thing to do was to go
by as if, for such as she, watch
men didn't exist. The rhythmic pound
ing Of feet and the frayed chords
from a worn-out piano, convinced her
she was in the right place.
Her stratagem succeeded. The man
glanced up and, though she felt he
didn't return to his paper again, he
made no attempt to stop her. She
walked steadily ahead to another open
door at the far end of the room,
through which sounds and light came
in.
Rose paused for a steadying breath
before she went through that farther
door, her eyes starry with resolution,
her cheeks, just for the moment, q lit
tie pale.
The room was hot and not well
lighted. In the farther wall of it was
a proscenium arch and raised stage.
On the stage, right and left, were two
irregular groups of girls, with a few
men, awkwardly, RGse thought, dis
posed among them. All were swaying
a little to mark the rhythm Of the mu-
sic industriously pounded out by a
sweaty young man at the pianO-a
swarthy, thick young man in his un-
dershirt. There were a few more
people sprawled in different parts OF
the hall.
It was all little vague to her at
first, because her attention was fO-
cused upon single figure-a compact,
rather slender, figure, and tall, Rose
thought-of a man in a blue serge
suit, who stood at the exact center Of
the stage and the extreme edge of the
footlights. He was counting aloud
the bars of the music-not beating
time at all, nor yielding to the rhythm
in any way; standing, on the contrary,
rather tensely still. That was the
quality about him, indeed, that riveted
Roses attention and held her, as still
as he was, in the dOOrway-an ex-
hilarating sort of intensity that had
communicated itself to the swaying
groups on the stage.
You could tell from the way he
counted that something was gathering
itself up, getting ready to happen.
"Three -Four Five
Six Seven-Now" |"
he shouted on the eighth bar, and with
the word one of the groups trans
formed itself. One Of the men bowed
to one Of the girls and began waltzing
with her; another couple formed, then
another.
Rose watched breathlessly, hoping
the maneuver wouldn't go wrong-for
no reason in the world but that the
man there at the footlights was so
faulty determined that it shouldn't.
Determination triumphed. The num-
ber was concluded to John Galbraith's
evident satisfaction. every good" he
said. "If you'll all do exactly what
you did that time from now on, I'll
not complain" Without pause he went
on: Everybody on the stage-big
girls-all the big girls!" And to the
young man at the piano, ''We'n do 'Af
ternOOn Tea"
There was momentary pause then,
filed with subdued chatter, while the
girls and men realigned themselves for
the new number.
Rose looked them over. The girls
weren't, on an average, extravagantly
beautiful, though, with the added
charm of make-Ap allowed for, there
were, no doubt, many the audiences
would consider so. They were dressed
in pretty much anything that would
allow perfect freedom to their bodies,
especially their arms and legs; bath
ing suits mostly, or MILDLY blouses and
bloomers. Rose noted this with salts
faction. Her old university gymna-
SUM costume would do perfectly. Any
thing, apparently, would do, because,
as her eye adjusted itself to details,
she discovered romper suits, pima