1.

　　The rehearsals of a musical comedy--a term which embraces "musicalfantasies"--generally begin in a desultory sort of way at thatcurious building, Bryant Hall, on Sixth Avenue just off Forty-secondStreet. There, in a dusty, uncarpeted room, simply furnished with afew wooden chairs and some long wooden benches, the chorus--or, inthe case of "The Rose of America," the ensemble--sit round a pianoand endeavor, with the assistance of the musical director, to get thewords and melodies of the first-act numbers into their heads. Thisdone, they are ready for the dance director to instil into them thesteps, the groupings, and the business for the encores, of which thatincurable optimist always seems to expect there will be at least six.

　　Later, the principals are injected into the numbers. And finally,leaving Bryant Hall and dodging about from one unoccupied theatre toanother, principals and chorus rehearse together, running through theentire piece over and over again till the opening night of thepreliminary road tour.

　　To Jill, in the early stages, rehearsing was just like being back atschool. She could remember her first school-mistress, whom themusical director somewhat resembled in manner and appearance,hammering out hymns on a piano and leading in a weak soprano aneager, baying pack of children, each anxious from motives of pride toout-bawl her nearest neighbor.

　　The proceedings began on the first morning with the entrance of MrSaltzburg, the musical director, a brisk, busy little man withbenevolent eyes behind big spectacles, who bustled over to the piano,sat down, and played a loud chord, designed to act as a sort of bugleblast, rallying the ladies Of the ensemble from the corners wherethey sat in groups, chatting. For the process of making one another'sacquaintance had begun some ten minutes before with mutualrecognitions between those who knew each other from having beentogether in previous productions. There followed rapid introductionsof friends. Nelly Bryant had been welcomed warmly by a pretty girlwith red hair, whom she introduced to Jill as Babe: Babe had awillowy blonde friend, named Lois: and the four of them had seatedthemselves on one of the benches and opened a conversation; theirnumbers being added to a moment later by a dark girl with a Southernaccent and another blonde. Elsewhere other groups had formed, and theroom was filled with a noise like the chattering of starlings. In abody by themselves, rather forlorn and neglected, half a dozen solemnand immaculately dressed young men were propping themselves upagainst the wall and looking on, like men in a ball-room who do notdance.

　　Jill listened to the conversation without taking any great part in itherself. She felt as she had done on her first day at school, alittle shy and desirous of effacing herself. The talk dealt withclothes, men, and the show business, in that order of importance.

　　Presently one of the young men sauntered diffidently across the roomand added himself to the group with the remark that it was a fineday. He was received a little grudgingly, Jill thought, but bydegrees succeeded in assimilating himself. A second young man driftedup; reminded the willowy girl that they had worked together in thewestern company of "You're the One"; was recognized and introduced;and justified his admission to the circle by a creditable imitationof a cat-fight. Five minutes later he was addressing the Southerngirl as "honey," and had informed Jill that he had only joined thisshow to fill in before opening on the three-a-day with the swellestlittle song-and-dance act which he and a little girl who worked inthe cabaret at Geisenheimer's had fixed up.