Sport: French Drubbed

In a Manhattan theatre dressing room, a tall, angular actor scrubbed furiously at the grease paint on his gaunt features. The curtain had just rung down on his matinee (That Smith Boy) and he* had an engagement even more pressing than seeing a manager at the Algonquin or sipping something cold in a friend's flat. He jerked on his overcoat, flung himself into a taxi, leaped out again at the Seventh Regiment Armory, where he plunged into a dense crowd of humanity and was seen no more, until he...

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