“I can’t understand it!” he exclaimed, dropping down opposite her. “Hemingway wants me to come to town at once. Has something important to talk over. I don’t dare put him off, for all our chances of getting a New York date depend on him, and yet it’s deucedly inconvenient with so much here to look after.”
Marion Gray hesitated an instant.
“How very provoking,” she agreed presently. “But, of course, you must go. It would never do to offend Hemingway, and you know how erratic he is sometimes. Is there anything here to do except keep an eye on the theatre?”
“Not much,” Demarest returned. “They have a good start there, and know what to do next, but I had expected to run over two or three times to be sure they were getting things straight.”
“Why don’t you ask that nice Mr. Merriwell you were telling me about to look after things for you?” she suggested.
Demarest’s face brightened.
“That’s a good idea,” he returned quickly, “only it seems cheeky. However, I know he’ll do it if he can, and it’s the only way out. I’ll phone him.”
He pushed back his chair, and stood up.
“Well, I’ll be off. Just about time to make the train. Don’t worry if I’m not back to-night. There might be something to detain me, but I’ll make the first train out in the morning at the latest. Dress rehearsal at eleven, you know. Look after that for me, will you? And be sure everybody understands. By-by.”
She nodded gayly to him, but her face sobered as she went on with her breakfast. The success of this venture meant almost as much to her as it did to Demarest, and she was wrapped up in it.