“Miss Leroy?” he said. “My name’s YoungJames Young.”
She stared at him. He could see she had very blue eyes. Then she said, “Oh yes,” and stood looking at him.
His thin lips smiled. “I guess you think I’m a little crazy, but I ain’t. You got my letter, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“We can’t talk in the street. There’s a coffee−shop further along here. May we go there?”
He turned and began to move along the street. She fell into step beside him. He nearly laughed. It was a push−over.
“My letter may have been a bit mysterious,” he said. “But when I explain, you can see how absurdly simple it is. Before we go any further, I’d like you to know that I’m a director of Lazard Film Company. I’ve just been back here to look up my old folks. I’m returning to Hollywood on Friday.”
He saw her eyes sparkle. “Gee!” she said. “You really mean you direct films?”
He nodded. “Yeah, an’ believe me it’s a lousy job.”
They entered the cafe and sat down. He ordered coffee and crackers.