"
The moment was at hand when he was to see the vision of so many
toilsome hours begin to grow alive. What had been no more than
little black marks on white paper was now to become a living
voice vibrating the actual air. No wonder, then, that tremors
seized him; Pygmalion shook as Galatea began to breathe, and to
young Canby it was no less a miracle that his black marks and
white paper should thus come to life.
"Miss Ellsling!" called the stage-manager. "Miss Ellsling,
you're on. You're on artificial stone bench in garden, down
right. Mr. Nippert, you're on. You're over yonder, right cen---"
"Not at all!" interrupted Talbot Potter, who had taken his seat
at a small table near the trough where the footlights lay
asleep, like the row of night-watchmen they were. "Not at all!"
he repeated sharply, thumping the table with his knuckles.
"That's all out. It's cut. Nippert doesn't come on in this
scene at all. You've got the original script there, Packer.
Good heavens! Packer, can't you ever get anything right? Didn't
I distinctly tell you-- Here! Come here! Not garden set, at
all.
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