“I don’t——ow-oo!——know. Scuse me, dear.”
“Most pictures are made in secret, anyway. The public knows nothing about them until the producer is ready to make their release.”
“I—ow-oo!—I see,” yawned Jennie.
“Even the picture play magazines do not announce them until the first runs. Then, sometimes, there is a synopsis of the story published. But it will be too late, then. Especially when I have no notes of my work, nor any witnesses. I told no living soul about the scenario—what it was about, or——”
“Sh-sh-sh——”
“Why, Heavy!” murmured the scandalized Ruth.
“Sh-sh-sh—whoo!” breathed the plump girl, with complete abandon.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Ruth, tempted to shake her, “if you snore like that when you are married, Henri will have to sleep at the other end of the house.”
But this was completely lost on the tired Jennie Stone, who continued to breathe heavily until Ruth herself fell asleep. It seemed as though the latter had only closed her eyes when the sun shining into her face awoke the girl of the Red Mill. The shades of the east window had been left up, and it was sunrise.
Plenty of farm noises outside the Drovers’ Tavern, as well as a stir in the kitchen, assured Ruth that there were early risers here. Jennie, rolled in more than her share of the bedclothes, continued to breathe as heavily as she had the night before.