The work of the day was over, and most of the players had gone home. Ruth and Alice were waiting for their father, who was in Mr. Pertell's office. They had intended going shopping, thinking Mr. DeVere would be detained, but he had said he would be with them directly.
And the two girls had brought up the subject of the new line of work, broached by Mr. Pertell in mentioning the matter of the spy.
"I hope nothing comes of that incident," said Mr. DeVere, as he came from the manager's office, while Ruth and Alice finished their preparations for the street.
"I hope not, either," returned the manager, slipping into his coat, for, like many busy men, he worked best in his shirt sleeves. "Yet I don't like it, and I am frank to confess that the International concern has more than once tried to get the best of me by underhand work. I don't like it. I must keep track of that Wilson. Good night, ladies. Good night, Mr. DeVere."
The good nights were returned and then the two girls, with their father, Russ and Paul, went out.
"That was an unfortunate occurrence," remarked Mr. DeVere.
"Oh, Daddy! How hoarse you are!" exclaimed Ruth, laying a daintily-gloved hand on his shoulder. "You must use your throat spray as soon as you get home."
"I will. My throat is a little raw. There was considerable dust in the studio to-day. I like work in the open air best."
"So do I," confessed Alice. "Now, Daddy, you must stop talking," and she shook her finger at him. "You listen—we'll talk."
"You mean you will," laughed Ruth, for Alice generally did her own, and part of Ruth's share also.