"Oh, bah!" he exclaimed, gruffly derisive. "Ven you begome star then
you can have dem tantrums, but not now, not mit me. You blay vat I
say, or I send back after some von else. You bedder not get too gay,
or you lose your job damn quick. You don't vant Mooney to make lofe to
you? You don't vant him to giss you?--hey, vos dot it?"

"Yes, that was exactly it."

"Ach!--you too nice to be brofessional; you like to choose your lofer,
hey? You forget you earn a livin' so. Vot you got against Mooney?"

Miss Norvell, her cheeks burning indignantly, her eyes already ablaze,
did not mince words.

"Nothing personally just so long as he keeps away from me," she
retorted clearly. "He is coarse, vulgar, boorish, and I have far too
much respect for myself to permit such a man to touch me, either upon
the stage or off; to have him kiss me would be an unbearable insult."

Albrecht, totally unable to comprehend the feelings of the girl,
shifted uneasily beneath the sharp sting of her words, yet continued to
smile idiotically.

"Dot is very nice, quite melodramatic, but it is not brofessional,
Meess," he stammered, striving to get hold of some satisfactory
argument. "Vy, Mooney vos not so pad. Meess Lyle she act dot bart mit
him all der last season, and make no kick. Dunder! vat you vant--an
angel? You don't hafe to take dot bart mit me, or Meester Lane either,
don 't it, hey?"