"Can't have; at least, not unless his wife's gone off the hooks," said Bill. "I heard of him not a year ago from one of the boys who used to supe with me. Said Jacobus had married an actress named Thora Moon, a big dark woman, in the heavy line."
"The heavy line?" asked Loveland.
"Yes. Does heavies, don't you know? But you never can tell with pros. It's married one year and a bachelor the next."
"Widower, you mean," said Val.
"No, I don't, unless it's grass, and grass don't count. I should feel mighty bad if I thought Lillie'd married Jack Jacobus. He ain't the right sort. Jinks, I wish they was advertising for a scene painter, instead of juvenile lead. Wouldn't I just whizz out to Modunk like a shot. Say, Gordon, you wouldn't like the job, would you? Great idea! Why, you're made for it. And you could give the Little Human Flower old Bill's never failin' love."
"I couldn't get them to take me, I'm afraid," said Loveland. "I'm not an actor."
"An actor!" repeated Bill, with inexpressible scorn. "As if they wanted an actor in a show like that, or would know one if they saw him! You're a good looker, you're young, with a tall, slim figure, and all the other qualifications named."
"Except the experience—and the wardrobe."
"Pooh!" said Bill. "Ain't you ever played as an amateur?"
"Yes, once or twice. They roped me in," said Loveland, recalling a brilliant scene in the country-house of a Duchess, and another for the success of which some of the young officers of his battalion had been responsible.