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Show JN THE DANGER ZONE By Cyril Maude. . A COWBOY in Colorado once tried to make me dance by shooting holes in the floor around my feet. That was a long time ago, before I went on the stage, when J had gone ton Denver to try to recover my lost health. That was an exciting minute or two for me, but I don't think my heart beat as fast that time as it did one day last summer when I was on my way to England on a transport under un-der convoy. We were nearing the other oth-er side and were right in the middle of the danger zone. We had been sleeping what sleeping wo did in "our clothes and wearing our life belts all the time for several days and kindly kind-ly fellow passengers who had been across before had been telling us interesting in-teresting stories of their own and other oth-er people's experiences "right over there whore you see that white cap." r That sort of thing, you know. Very enlivening In the circumstances. We had to be amused, o course, so there was speechmaking every day. This particular day it was my turn. From the platform I could see the aeroplanes aer-oplanes flying around overhead and on all sides the little submarine chasers were scurrying about. Every time an aeroplane made a swoop and they did it frequently my heart went right down into my boots and sometimes I thought it would never come up again. Oh, I spoke all right and someone told me afterward it was a good speech. I don't know myself. I recited something, some-thing, too. What it was I haven't an idea. Well, right in the middle of it all I heard one of the lookouts up in front shout something and I saw a destroyer destroy-er dash past and I saw an aeroplane swoop in the same direction. No, there wasn't any submarine. But that was the time I thought my heart never, never would come up again out of my boots. Theatre Magazine. |