TROUPER

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXIX, Issue 13235, 10 January 1941, Page 3

TROU PER

THE EVENING STORY

By Marie Dixon

“There’s no getting around the facts, Mara,” big Andy McVane pointed out soberly to his wife. “Our kind of people are a drug in the entertainment market these days. There's no use kidding ourselves. One of our kids would call it being technologically maladjusted to the business, but we never called it that. We’re has-beens, you and I!” Mara McVane put a still-slender hand upon her husband’s drooping shoulder and looked with understanding into his baffled eyes. She knew, with the intuitiveness of long and close association, that big Andy was at a mental impasse.

"You’re trying to tell me that Benton, our last chance, has turned us down? That’s pretty bad, darling, when even our oldest friend can no longer get us a split week. Vaudeville is dead, certainly, when this happens to a song-and-dance team that was Palace quality not too many years ago. What will we do?’’ "We’ll keep on trying, Mara, that’s all we can do! No one ever could say that a McVane went down without a fight!’’ He rubbed a harassed hand through his greying hair and frowned. "We have to do something to keep the three kids in college. They ? re going to be something one of these days!” "Thank goodness we got their tuition paid in advance when we were working on that last show, Andy,” his wife declared, "but we can’t keep the bad news from them much longer. We had to cut down on their al-

lowances already.” “They’ll not be bouncing in here to help out their old, failing father!” McVane stormed suddenly. “It’s in the college they’ll stay, if we have to sell every stick of furniture in the house to keep them from finding out!”

The booking agent kept Andy waiting for a while when the song-and-dance man had swallowed his pride and made up his mind to try once again to regain a last foothold in his vanishing profession. Big Andy and he had once travelled in company together, even before Andy had met Mara and married her, taking her into his act. It was going to be hard, he knew, to handle the situation delicately. He pressed the signal buzzer for the girl to admit his old friend.

“Hello, Jim,” Andy greeted him soberly as he q|pme in and stood, hat in hand, uncertain as to his status. Benton advanced and clasped his hand warmly. “I’m glad you’ve come again so soon after the last discouragement I had to offer, Andy,”.he said. “Fact of the matter is I was just going to call you to see if you had enough free time to help me out for the summer on a little project of mine.”

A soft shoe artist of another day looks to the past and finds three reasons for not giving: up

Andy searched his face for the joker. "Don't fool me. Jim. if you haven’t got something for me. It’s past the joking stage now, although I wouldn’t admit it to anybody but you. I can see the planning of years tumbling about my ears!" Benton looked out the window. "I know, it’s about those three youngsters of yours. Andy, that you’re worrying. Ever stop to think that they might not want to be what you intend to make of them?”

Andy winced, but stuck to his convictions. “They’ll not be brokendown old war horses like me when they get to be my age—l’ll guarantee that!” he stoutly asserted. “They’re going to be successful, and permanently!” "I hope your wish works out, Andy, and I’m sure it will. You’ve got three fine young kids, all right. But about this job I have for you, that is, if you want it—” Andy’s hat brim crushed in his fingers. Something miraculous must have happened to open up a spot for him, and maybe for Mara, too. Just like in the old days of the circuits.

“You want a team, or just me?” he asked hesitatingly. Benton reserved his answer for just a moment, while his eyes met the sudden hope in his friend’s. “I’ll put my cards on the table, Andy, just like I’ve always done. There’s never been a bit of understanding scrambled between us, has there?” “I can’t truthfully claim there

has, Jim,” Andy admitted. It was getting clearer now. Jim had some other kind of job—the kind a hasbeen could manage. “Go on, Jim!”

“You’re an old buck-and-wing man, a soft-shoe artist, an eccentric dancer,” Benton went on, kindly enough. “You and I both know that you were among the best in the profession, but that stuff is strictly passe now. But the fundamentals of any art are unchangable, Andy. I want you to coach an act which I think will really click, given enough expert coaching. The talent is there! ”

“That’s true, Jim. Give me the rest—I can take it!”

Benton eyed him quizzically. “I hope you can, Andy, because it’s coming right across the board. The act I’m talking about is a dancing and vocal trio made up of Thomas and the twins, Patricia and Patrick!” For a long minute big Andy just stood there, struggling mentally.

“What?” he exploded incredulous-

Benton nodded. “Modern kids aren’t as obtuse as we used to be at their age, Andy,” he pointed out. “They can catch the pitching as soon as the ball is thrown, let me tell you. And you ought to be proud that your three had the spunk to rig up an act and come to me, just so they could do something to help you over a tough spot during the summer. I can use them, too!” Andy sat down, momentarily crushed by the sudden revelation. His own little ones, forced to come to his assistance. But that was silly —they were no longer children, he realised honestly. A new look came into his eyes, a proud look.

“They know their own minds, Jim, and I trust their judgment.” A hint of curiosity showed in his eyes.' “Are they any good, Jim? Honestly good?” “They’re three chips off the old block, Andy, I can’t give them any better recommendation. I’ve got a providing that you prepare them summer contract all ready for them, and give them that McVane polish.” Andy’s chest swelled visibly in spite of himself. “The brash young squirts, they all ought to be spanked!” he blustered. “And they -will be If they don’t do their stuff. When do I start?”