Mr. Butler glowered through the act. He couldn’t see a thing, he swore.
“I should think the husband of the star could get the best seats in the house,” he said when the act was half-over, showing where his thoughts were.
“That press agent hates me,” said Harvey, showing where his had been.
“Hates you? In God’s name, why?”
“I’ve had to call him down a couple of times,” said Harvey, confidentially. “Good and hard, too.”
“I suppose that’s why he makes you take a back seat,” said Butler, sarcastically.
“Well, what can a fellow do?” complained the other. “If I could have seen Mr.—”
A man sitting behind tapped him on the shoulder.
“Will you be good enough to stop talking 53 while the curtain’s up?” he requested, in a state of subdued belligerency.
Harvey subsided without even so much as a glance to see what the fellow was like.