“Not as bad as that, I guess,” laughed Ruth. “It really is barely time for the boys, you know.”
Tom Cameron, Helen’s twin brother, and Chess Copley, Helen’s fiancé, had suggested an auto ride to the two girls. Since the day was sultry and hot, the girls had readily accepted the invitation.
Helen had lunched with Ruth, and now the chums had repaired to the shaded grounds about the old house to await the arrival of the boys.
Ruth had decided to peruse her morning mail, and among the letters had found the annoying one from Sol Bloomberg.
The letter reminded the girls forcibly of Ruth’s last venture in motion picture-making in which the latter had forced her way to success despite the machinations of this same Bloomberg, and in so doing had made of the unsuccessful producer a bitter and revengeful enemy.
Now she tore the paper into tiny bits and with a challenging little flirt of her fingers scattered the pieces to the four winds. This accomplished, Ruth felt better, as though, in the act of tearing up the letter, she had destroyed the potency of Bloomberg’s threat as well.
But Sol Bloomberg was not a scrap of paper to be so easily disposed of. His enmity was something to be reckoned with, as Ruth was to learn full well and to her cost in the days to follow.
But now, as Helen called out that the boys were coming, Ruth put all premonition of trouble from her mind. For that afternoon at least, she was determined to leave “shop” behind her.
Tom Cameron had no sooner stepped from the car than she saw there was some news of an important nature for her. He came to her directly and held out a yellow envelope.
“Telegram,” he said laconically. “They were just sending it out from the office when I came along and thought I’d save them the trouble.”