local addresses of the troupe were posted up, and he located Miss Fitzgerald at the Wynnwood Hotel.
“You have aspect of experienced person,” ventured Chan.
Eden laughed. “Oh, I’ve known a few chorus-girls in my time. Regular man of the world, I am.”
Chan took up his post on a bench in Pershing Square, while the boy went on alone to the Wynnwood Hotel. He sent up his name, and after a long wait in the cheap lobby, the actress joined him. She was at least thirty, probably more, but her eyes were young and sparkling. At sight of Bob Eden she adopted a rather coquettish manner.
“You Mr. Eden?” she said. “I’m glad to see you, though why I see you’s a mystery to me.”
“Well, just so long as it’s a pleasant mystery—” Eden smiled.
“I’ll say it is—so far. You in the profession?”
“Not precisely. First of all, I want to say that I heard you sing over the radio the other night, and I was enchanted. You’ve a wonderful voice.”
She beamed. “Say, I like to hear you talk like that. But I had a cold—I’ve had one ever since I struck this town. You ought to hear me when I’m going good.”
“You were going good enough for me. With a voice like yours, you ought to be in grand opera.”
“I know—that’s what all my friends say. And it ain’t that I haven’t had the chance. But I love the theater. Been on the stage since I was a teeny-weeny girl.”
“Only yesterday, that must have been.”
“Say, boy—you’re good,” she told him. “You don’t happen to be scouting for the Metropolitan, do you?”
