“So, so. I see you’re working.”
“Only for two days. I’m just atmosphere in this piece. I got some real stuff coming along pretty soon for Baxter. Got to climb down ten stories of a hotel elevator cable, and ride a brake-beam and be pushed off a cliff and thrown to the lions, and a few other little things.”
“That’s good, Flips. Come in and see me some time. Have a little chat. Ma working?”
“Yeah—got a character bit with Charlotte King in Her Other Husband.” “Glad to hear it. How’s Pa Montague?”
“Pa’s in bed. They’ve signed him for Camillia of the Cumberlands, providing he raises a brush, and just now it ain’t long enough for whiskers and too long for anything else, so he’s putterin’ around with his new still.”
“Well, drop over sometime, Flips, I’m keeping you in mind.”
“Thanks, Governor. Say—” Merton glanced up in time to see her wink broadly at the man, and look toward his companion who still seriously made notes on the back of an envelope. The man’s face melted to a grin which he quickly erased. The girl began again:
“Mr. Henshaw—could you give me just a moment, Mr. Henshaw?” The serious director looked up in quite frank annoyance.
“Yes, yes, what is it, Miss Montague?”
“Well, listen, Mr. Henshaw, I got a great idea for a story, and I was thinking who to take it to and I thought of this one and I thought of that one, and I asked my friends, and they all say take it to Mr. Henshaw, because if a story has any merit he’s the one director on the lot that can detect it and get every bit of value out of it, so I thought—but of course if you’re busy just now—”