"Just thought I'd give you a surprise, Homer," he explained boisterously. "Did your heart jump when you saw that card? Well, so did mine. Still, it's real. I fixed it all up. Sold her the play. 'You can't go wrong,' I said, 'with one of the greatest dramas ever written.' "
Mrs. Wohlbreit turned her back on him coldly and inspected Mr. Quarterstone. She looked nothing like the average man's conception of a female from Hollywood, being gaunt and masculine with a sallow lined face and gold-rimmed glasses and mousey hair plastered back above her ears, but Mr. Quarterstone had at least enough experience to know that women were used in Hollywood in executive positions which did not call for the decorative qualities of more publicized employees.
She said in her cold masculine voice: "Is this your agent?"
Mr. Quarterstone swallowed.
"Ah—"
"Part owner," said Mr. Urlaub eagerly. "That's right, isn't it, Homer? You know our agreement — fifty-fifty in everything. Eh? Well, I've been working on this deal—"
"I asked you," said Mrs. Wohlbreit penetratingly, "because I understand that you're the owner of this play we're interested in. There are so many chisellers in this business that we make it our policy to approach the author first direct — if he wants to take any ten-per-centers in afterwards, that's his affair. A Mr. Tombs brought me the play first, and told me he had an interest in it. I found out that he got it from Mr. Urlaub, so I went to him. Mr. Urlaub told me that you were the original author. Now, who am I to talk business with?"
Mr. Quarterstone saw his partner's mouth opening for another contribution.
"With — with us," he said weakly.
It was not what he might have said if he had had time to think, but he was too excited to be particular.