"If they _do_ come," continued Birdie vindictively, "you just watch me
teach Mac Clarke a thing or two. He needn't think because his folks
happen to be swells, he can treat me any old way. I'll make it hot for
him if he don't look out, you see if I don't."
Once back at the Gaiety, Nance forgot all about Birdie and her love
affairs. Her own small triumph completely engrossed her. A morning paper
had mentioned the fantastic dance of the little bear, and had given her
three lines all to herself. Reeser was jubilant, the director was
mollified, and even the big comedian whose name blazed in letters of
fire outside, actually stopped her in the wings to congratulate her.
"Look here, young person," he said, lifting a warning finger, "you want
to be careful how you steal my thunder. You'll be taking my job next!"
Whereupon Nance had the audacity to cross her eyes and strike his
most famous pose before she dodged under his arm and scampered down
the stairs.
It seemed incredible that the marvelous events of the night before could
happen all over again; but they did. She had only to imitate her own
performance to send the audience into peals of laughter. 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.
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