"Angel?" repeated Zinsheimer. "That's just what I would like to be, but she won't let me. All right, Flossie, I'm coming."
CHAPTER XV
THE FINAL RECKONING
Gordon, too, had spent a restless night. Leaving the theater abruptly after giving orders to dismiss the audience, he had driven furiously to his club. There, in the seclusion of the grill-room and in a niche not far removed from the bar, he had endeavored to alleviate his disappointment by partaking of many gin rickeys. Late at night some of his friends interrupted him at this amusement to tell him of the new play at the Globe.
"New play?" he repeated. "Why, the theater wasn't open."
"Sure it was," replied one of his companions. "But they might as well have kept it closed. Beastly piece, hackneyed stuff, stale jokes, bad company, and the star—piffle. Nice enough little girl, you know, very pretty and all that, but she can't act for sour apples."
Gordon listened in surprise. "You mean to say," he demanded, "that Martha Farnum appeared at the Globe to-night?"
"Surest thing you know," his friend replied. "I was there and saw her."