"That'll give you the code, understand," he concluded, shoving it in her hand. "Now shake a foot."
The important-looking beings in the room apparently neither saw nor heard. Save for the clouds of smoke that issued from them they might have been graven.
When she got back to 1241 she was bursting with an idea.
"How long does your lease run, Miss Frankland?" she asked.
"Until May first."
"You can't get out of it!"
"No, I signed up."
"Well, if we don't pay our rent they'll put us out." It proved to be a prophecy.
Frankland & Connor found a bigger room for sixteen a month in the theatrical district, which for some unexplained reason converges from three sides upon the Court House. They described themselves as "experts in theatrical work," and presently they were.
They learned to give a dramatic criticism with each receipted bill. The play they had just transcribed was deeply moving, especially in the big scene, or one long roar, sure-fire. Playwrights were as thick as July blackberries and the firm prospered.