“We’ve got to have two strong men.” Camden dared not look at the pleading face opposite. But something was already making him agree with it.
“And, by heavens, I don’t know of but one who isn’t taken.”
“There’s a boy—he’s only had minor parts so far—but I want him for the man-who-learned-his-lesson. You can give the big wood-giant to John Harrington—I heard to-day that he was drifting, up to date—but I want Timmy Nichols for the other part.”
“Nichols? Thunder! He’s only done—what in the dickens has he done? I remember him, but I can’t recall his parts.”
“That’s it! That’s it! Now I want him to drive his part home—with himself!”
Camden looked across at the vivid young face that a brief but brilliant career had not ruined.
“I begin to understand,” he muttered.
“Do you, Camden? Well, I’m only beginning to understand myself!”
“Together, you’ll be corking!” Camden suddenly grew enthusiastic.
“Won’t we? And he did so hate to have me slimy. No one but Timmy and my mother ever cared!”