"Jack can't resist his little joke. I'm afraid I've spoiled that boy outrageously."
"Yes, I rather think you have," said the other dryly.
CHAPTER VIII
JERRY EMERGES
In hearing from Jack Ballard's own lips the story of Jerry Benham's first appearance in Broadway I was forcibly reminded of the opening cantos of the Divine Comedy where Dante follows the shade of Virgil into the abyss of hell. I had not let Jerry know of my presence in New York, for I believed that he would have wanted me with him and did not care to be placed in a position to refuse him. Indeed I can give no reason for my visit except the very plausible one that, my work going badly, I felt the need of a change. Jack was much amused at my sudden appearance one morning at his apartments, but welcomed me warmly enough, giving the pledge of secrecy I demanded.
"Oh, it's been perfectly ripping," he said, when we were seated, fairly bubbling over with delectable reminiscences. "He's like a newly-hatched chicken, all fluffy and clean, a little batty-eyed and groggy but intensely curious about everything."
"Has he asked any questions?"
"Millions of 'em, like balls from a Roman candle. He shoots 'em at every angle and some of 'em hit."
"You've taken him about?" I asked.