Shelby's name had become famous, his work was applauded everywhere, and Peter yearned to see him and renew their friendship.
But he knew he mustn't think of those things. First of all he had to decide whether or not he was to come back to life, and if not,—and he had a conviction that that would be his decision,—he must not dally with tempting thoughts and hopes of any sort.
But it was hard! Blair dead, Shelby famous, and he, Peter, unable to talk things over with any relative, chum or friend.
He must talk to somebody, and on his way out of the theater he spoke to the box office man.
"Wonderful show," he said, smiling at him. "Who's this Shelby?"
"He's the big push of to-day," was the enthusiastic reply. "He's a marvel of efficiency and generalship. And a big author, too."
"He wrote the play as well as produced it, I see."
"Yes. Oh, he can do anything."
"Married man?"
"No; but I've heard he's engaged to a girl,—a Miss Harper, I believe."