"Up in Labrador, I'll bet!"
"Yes, they are, Carly. And corkers! Well, I figure to have the book and the pictures sprung on an unsuspecting public simultaneously,—and afterward,—maybe, it will be made into a real play!"
"And after that, into a Light Opera,—and after that, into Grand Opera?"
Carly's tone was mocking, but her smile was sweet and approving, and Kit beamed at her.
"I knew you'd be interested! I want you to hear the plot soon,—and would you like to go to the studios?"
"Where they're making the Labrador pictures?"
"Yes; they're faked, of course. No sense in going up there to take them. I know the stuff so well, I can get it up right here."
"Oh, Kit, you ought to have the real scenes."
"No; it isn't necessary. Snow's easy enough to manage. But the plot's the thing! Carly, it's a peach! And then, it's all done up with real artistry. No crude, raw scenes. All softened with lights and shades and colors; and everything,—even realism, sacrificed to beauty. It will be the success of the season, the talk of the town, and it will make my reputation forever."
"When will it be put on?"