"Yes," commented Ackerman. "The friendship of some of you gladiators is surely a wonderful thing! Rawn hates you, and you hate Rawn. Don't your ears burn?"
"No, my heart!" He laid a hand on that organ with mock gravity.
"What could you do with the Lady of the Lightnings, Van?" asked Standley discreetly.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing."
"Hasn't she any social instincts?"
"Plenty, but all gratified; that's the trouble. There isn't anything those people want that they haven't got. No, I must say his position is pretty strong."
"But it's not impregnable, Standley," cut in the gray-bearded man, stopping the twiddling of his fingers above his round-paunched body. "Now, look here, we're all friends together, when it comes to that. You belong with us a lot more than you do with that Jasper from the country. Of course, you split with us, got mad, took your dolls and all that sort of thing—we're all used to that—and we all sat tight because it looked good. It looked better than it does now. So, we're friends again."
"Of course," nodded the slight man. "I understand that."
"Sure you do! Now, it's plain that when it comes to being on the inside, you're there as an ex-director just as much as we are as real directors—maybe more so, for all I know."
"Maybe more, yes, that's so," smiled the slender man, his brown eyes twinkling yet more.