Larry started to congratulate him, but was instantly interrupted with:
“I admit I'm a painter, and always will admit it. But this present thing is all your doing. We'll try to square things sometime. But I didn't ask you to come along to hear verbostical acrobatics about myself. I asked you to learn if you'd worked out your plan yet regarding Maggie?”
“Yes.” And Larry proceeded to give the details of his design.
“Regular psychological stuff!” exclaimed Hunt. And then: “Say, you're some stage-manager! Or rather same playwright! Playwrights that know tell me it's one of their most difficult tricks—to get all their leading characters on the stage at the same time. And here you've got it all fixed to bring on Miss Sherwood, Dick, Maggie, yourself, and the all-important me—for don't forget I shall be slipping out to Cedar Crest occasionally.”
“As for myself,” remarked Larry, “I shall remain very much behind the scenes. Maggie'll never see me.”
“Well, here's hoping you're good enough playwright to manage your characters so they won't run away from you and mix up an ending you never dreamed of!”
The car paused again in the drive and Larry got out.
“I say, Larry,” Hunt whispered eagerly, “who's that tall, white-haired man working over there among the roses?”
“Joe Ellison. He's that man I told you about my getting to know in Sing Sing. Remember?”
“Oh, yes! The crook who was having his baby brought up to be a real person. Say, he's a sure-enough character! Lordy, but I'd love to paint that face!... So-long, son.”