“They will. Don’t worry. When did they promise you the tickets?”
“Tomorrow. They’ve done fairly well with the tickets,” Robin grudgingly conceded. “That is, provided they deliver them tomorrow, as promised. I am just a little tired, I guess. I like the programme part of getting up a show, but I don’t like the tiresome details.”
“Come on over to Baretti’s,” invited Marjorie. “What you need is sustenance. We can talk things over and have dinner at the same time. I can stay out until eight. It’s only five-fifteen now. We shall have oceans of time.”
“All right. Don’t you believe, though, that we’ll have much chance to talk. Some of our gang will be there, sure as fate,” Robin prognosticated.
Surely enough, they were greeted by a hospitable quartette occupying a table near the door. It was composed of Ronny, Jerry, Elaine Hunter and Barbara Severn.
“Aren’t you going home to dinner?” quizzed Jerry accusingly. “And you never said a word to me this noon of your secret intentions.”
“I hadn’t any. May I ask why you are here without having obtained my permission?” Marjorie drew down her face in an imitation of Miss Merton, a Sanford teacher both girls had greatly disliked.
“I have nothing to say,” chuckled Jerry. “You and your friend may sit at our table, if you like.”
“Thank you. My friend and I have weighty matters to discuss. We’re in the show business now, Jeremiah. We are bound for that last table in the row.” Marjorie pointed. “We’ll join you later, and please don’t disturb us. Ahem!”
“I don’t even know either of you by sight. Beat it.” Jerry waved both girls away with a magnificent gesture of disdain which sent them, giggling, toward their table.