This speech was the hit of the evening.
“Bobby,” said Compton, brushing away in a comic gesture an imaginary tear—not altogether, imaginary, at that—“you have unmanned me. But now let’s have a little council of war. First of all, our play is finished and you’re all out of a job.”
“It’s really school time, anyhow,” said Francis consolingly. “I’ve never had a regular year at school. How I’d like that!”
“So should I,” said Peggy.
“And I’m old enough to start now,” ended Pearl, “and I think Ma will allow me to go.”
“Upon my word!” exclaimed the host. “This is the first time in all my life that I heard a bunch of children expressing a desire to go to school. Shakespeare has set for all time the picture of the schoolboy with a snail’s pace trudging unwillingly to school.”
“Ah, ah!” said Pearl’s mother. “But Shakespeare never lived in Los Angeles and in the days of the moving picture.”
“True,” assented Compton. “All rules fail in Los Angeles, a city which may rightly be called ‘different.’ I’m glad you are all ready for school. I’ve got good news for you. ‘Imitation’ has brought me in a large sum of money. But I don’t think it is really mine at all. Bobby here, imitating everybody, gave me the first idea—the germ of the story. Then I got to thinking of what sort of people were most likely to imitate. There was just one answer—children. Next I thought of you three, Peggy, Pearl and Francis. After that it was easy to work out the plot. Now, while I am keeping a comfortable sum for myself, I have here in my pocket a check for each one of you calling for fifteen hundred dollars: and that has nothing to do with the salary you draw. I have already spoken to your mothers, and they are all willing for you to take nine months’ vacation from moving-picture work and go to school. The check is intended to pay for your education; and who knows but by next June I’ll have another scenario for just you four!”
There was a moment of wondering silence.
Then Pearl arose, smiling more engagingly than ever.