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Which she could easily have done. …Hello, Jimmy…. Is that you, Charlie? Why, Charlie, I spotted an old flame of yours on the other side of the room…. Well, Diana! …Say, Harry, where’s your wife? ” Finally she stepped off the seat and the band came in as she sang a loud, brassy “Swanee,” doing a broad, funny imitation of Al Jolson, after which the boys went into “Pony Boy” again and she flounced offstage, waving her jeweled Stetson. When she returned to much applause, three girls came from either wing to “ride” onstage and join her and add words to the song, and at least one of the half dozen was off-pitch, not that it mattered.
To the left a hostess station was “manned” by a similarly garbed brunette. This was the standard waitress attire, as well, and four such cuties in short buckskin skirts were conveying drinks of trays to the clientele—cowgirls out of Ziegfeld. At the far left was a little stage, the fairly low ceiling allowing room for only a baby grand piano and two tiers of musicians, saxophone, trombone, drum set, violin, trumpet and clarinet, who happened to be filing onto the platform right now, like a little tuxedo army.
Hart’s, an actress with both rodeo and vaudeville experience who had briefly become a sensation as the silver screen’s first cowgirl in such epics as Wild Flower of the Mountain Range and South of Santa Fe. She was talking about that right now, telling the audience she had a new picture out. “It’s called The White Squaw,” she said, “and, as you might expect, I have the title role. My last few horse operas have been flopperoos, so I need you good people to crawl out of bed at noon tomorrow, and take in a damn matinee!