"Bad business," he nodded. "It took a year for some of them folks to get back to Broadway. Some of the girls never did, and I guess never will."
"Maybe they're better off, Jim."
"Couldn't be worse. They're still in Texas. Wish I knew how to do something else—being a plumber or a walking delegate—they always have jobs."
"I wish I could do something else, too, but I can't. We've got to make the best of it."
Weston rose and took his hat.
"I guess so. Well, I'll see you this evening. I hope you'll have good news by that time." He started to open the door, and then came back a step, and in a voice meant to be kindly, he said: "If you'd like to go to the theatre to-night, and take some other woman in the house, maybe I can get a couple of tickets for one of the shows. I know a lot of fellows who are working."
The girl smiled sadly; tears filled her eyes.
"No, thanks, Jim; I haven't anything to wear to the theatre, and I don't——"
He understood. His face broadened into a sympathetic smile, and, putting his arm affectionately round her waist, as a father might with his daughter, he said kindly:
"Now, you just cheer up! Something's sure to turn up. It always has for me, and I'm a lot older than you, both in years and in this business. There's always a break in hard luck some time——"