"Isn't that what you want?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is my reason."
"You mean you don't see it, either?"
"But you do."
"But—"
"No 'buts.' She goes into rehearsal for a spring try-out in Baltimore, Stamford, or any of the dog towns. I'm giving the manuscript to Forbes to read this week. He's the man to direct that type of thing. I'm going to throw in ten or twenty thousand on your judgment."
"You're serious?" He held out his lean hand. "Ill send for Ida Blair."
"No—please!"
"Why?"