He listened, as one in a daze.
"But I gather," he said, when at last the recitle was over, "that you
have never met the--met him."
"Not in the ordinery use of the word," I remarked. "But then it is
not an ordinery situation. We have met and we have not. Our eyes have
spoken, if not our vocal chords." Seeing his eyes on me I added, "if
you do not beleive that Soul can cry unto Soul, Carter, I shall go no
further."
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "There is more, is there? I trust it is not
painfull, because I have stood as much as I can now without breaking
down."
"Nothing of which I am ashamed," I said, rising to my full height. "I
have come to you for help, Carter. THAT PLAY MUST NOT FAIL."
We faced each other over those vitle words--faced, and found no
solution.
"Is it a good Play?" he asked, at last.
"It is a beautiful Play. Oh, Carter, when at the end he takes his
Sweetheart in his arms--the leading lady, and not at all atractive. Jane
Raleigh says that the star generaly HATES his leading lady--there is not
a dry eye in the house."
"Must be a jolly little thing. Well, of course I'm no theatricle
manager, but if it's any good there's only one way to save it.
Advertize. I didn't know the piece was in town, which shows that the
publicaty has been rotten."
He began to walk the floor. I don't think I have mentioned it, but that
is Carter's busness. Not walking the floor. Advertizing. Father says he
is quite good, although only beginning.
"Tell me about it," he said.
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