Yoder would
never have tolerated if he had not needed the money. He quivered
with humiliation and struggled to conform, but he could not please
the sneering overseer. He sought the last resort of those persecuted
by critics:
"Maybe you can do better yourself!"
"Well, I hope I choke if I can't," Garfinkel said as he passed the
manuscript to the camera-man and summoned Kedzie to his embrace.
"Here, Miss What's-your-name, git to me."
Kedzie slipped into his clutch, and he took her as if she were a
sheaf of wheat. His arms loved her lithe elasticities. He dragged
her through the steps with a wondering increase of interest. "Well,
say!" he muttered for her private consumption, "you're a little bit
of all right. I'm not so worse myself when I have such help."
He danced with her longer than was necessary for the demonstration.
Then he reluctantly turned her over to Mr. Yoder. Kedzie did not
like Mr. Yoder any more. She found him fat and clumsy, and his hands
were fat and clammy.
Mr. Garfinkel had to show him again.
Kedzie could not help murmuring up toward his chin, "I wish I could
dance with you instead of him."
Garfinkel muttered down into her topknot: "You can, girlie, but not
before the camera. There's a reason. How about a little roof garden
this evening, huh?"
Kedzie sighed, "I'm sorry--I can't."
Garfinkel realized that the crowd was sitting up and taking notice,
and so he flung Kedzie back to Yoder and proceeded with the picture.
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