{"product_id":"2940013662865","title":"The Man in the Queue","description":"It was between seven and eight o'clock on a March evening, and all over\u003cbr\u003eLondon the bars were being drawn back from pit and gallery doors. Bang,\u003cbr\u003ethud, and clank. Grim sounds to preface an evening's amusement. But no\u003cbr\u003elast trump could have so galvanized the weary attendants on Thespis and\u003cbr\u003eTerpsichore standing in patient column of four before the gates of\u003cbr\u003epromise. Here and there, of course, there was no column. At the Irving,\u003cbr\u003efive people spread themselves over the two steps and sacrificed in warmth\u003cbr\u003ewhat they gained in comfort; Greek tragedy was not popular. At the\u003cbr\u003ePlaybox there was no one; the Playbox was exclusive, and ignored the\u003cbr\u003eexistence of pits. At the Arena, which had a three weeks' ballet season,\u003cbr\u003ethere were ten persons for the gallery and a long queue for the pit. But\u003cbr\u003eat the Woffington both human strings tailed away apparently into\u003cbr\u003einfinity. Long ago a lordly official had come down the pit queue and,\u003cbr\u003ewith a gesture of his outstretched arm that seemed to guillotine hope,\u003cbr\u003ehad said, \"All after here standing room only.\" Having thus, with a mere\u003cbr\u003econtraction of his deltoid muscle, separated the sheep from the goats, he\u003cbr\u003eretired in Olympian state to the front of the theatre, where beyond the\u003cbr\u003eglass doors there was warmth and shelter. But no one moved away from the\u003cbr\u003elong line. Those who were doomed to stand for three hours more seemed\u003cbr\u003eindifferent to their martyrdom. They laughed and chattered, and passed\u003cbr\u003eeach other sustaining bits of chocolate in torn silver paper. Standing\u003cbr\u003eroom only, was it? Well, who would not stand, and be pleased to, in the\u003cbr\u003elast week of _Didn't You Know?_ Nearly two years it had run now, London's\u003cbr\u003eown musical comedy, and this was its swan song. The stalls and the circle\u003cbr\u003ehad been booked up weeks ago, and many foolish virgins, not used to\u003cbr\u003equeues, had swelled the waiting throng at the barred doors because\u003cbr\u003ebribery and corruption had proved unsuccessful at the box office. Every\u003cbr\u003esoul in London, it seemed, was trying to crowd into the Woffington to\u003cbr\u003echeer the show just once again. To see if Golly Gollan had put a new gag\u003cbr\u003einto his triumph of foolery--Gollan who had been rescued from a life on\u003cbr\u003ethe road by a daring manager, and had been given his chance and had taken\u003cbr\u003eit. To sun themselves yet once more in the loveliness and sparkle of Ray\u003cbr\u003eMarcable, that comet that two years ago had blazed out of the void into\u003cbr\u003ethe zenith and had dimmed the known and constant stars. Ray danced like a\u003cbr\u003eblown leaf, and her link aloof smile had killed the fashion for\u003cbr\u003edentifrice advertisements in six months. \"Her indefinable charm,\" the\u003cbr\u003ecritics called it, but her followers called it many extravagant things,\u003cbr\u003eand defined it to each other with hand-wavings and facial contortions\u003cbr\u003ewhen words proved inadequate to convey the whole of her faery quality.\u003cbr\u003eNow she was going to America, like all the good things, and after the\u003cbr\u003elast two years London without Ray Marcable would be an unthinkable\u003cbr\u003edesert. Who would not stand forever just to see her once more?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt had been drizzling since five o'clock, and every now and then a light\u003cbr\u003echill air lifted the drizzle and half playfully swept the queue from end\u003cbr\u003eto end with it in one long brushstroke. That discouraged no one--even the\u003cbr\u003eweather could not take itself seriously tonight; it had merely sufficient\u003cbr\u003etang to provide a suitable apéritif to the fare in front of them. The\u003cbr\u003equeue twiddled its toes, and Cockneywise made the most of whatever\u003cbr\u003eentertainment provided itself in the dark canyon of the lane. First there\u003cbr\u003ehad come the newsboys, small things with thin, impassive faces and wary\u003cbr\u003eeyes. They had flickered down the queue like wildfire and disappeared,\u003cbr\u003eleaving behind a trail of chatter and fluttering papers. Then a man with\u003cbr\u003elegs shorter than his body laid a ragged strip of carpet on the damp\u003cbr\u003epavement and proceeded to tie himself into knots until he looked as a\u003cbr\u003espider does when it is taken unawares, his mournful toad's eyes gleaming\u003cbr\u003enow and then from totally unexpected places, in the writhing mass, so\u003cbr\u003ethat even the most indifferent spectator felt his spine trickle. He was\u003cbr\u003esucceeded by a man who played popular airs on the fiddle, happily\u003cbr\u003eoblivious of the fact that his E string was half a tone flat. Then,\u003cbr\u003esimultaneously, came a singer of sentimental ballads and a syncopated\u003cbr\u003eorchestra of three. After they had scowled at each other for a moment or\u003cbr\u003etwo, the soloist tried to rush things on the possession-being-nine-points\u003cbr\u003eprinciple, by breaking into a wailing _Because You Came to Me_, but the\u003cbr\u003eleader of the orchestra, handing his guitar to a lieutenant, proceeded to\u003cbr\u003einterview the tenor, with his elbows out and his hands lifted.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47165960061168,"sku":"2940013662865","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013662865_p0.jpg?v=1763584041","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013662865","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}