But he was listening for the sound of Bonnie May’s voice. He seemed almost absent-minded to the man and woman who were intently regarding him.
Then Thornburg, plainly afraid of offending his guest by a too impulsive or impatient word, fell back upon commonplaces. He concluded that he must wait to hear what Baron had come to say.
“You’ve heard about Baggot’s good luck?” he asked.
“I think not,” replied Baron, not at all cordially.
“His play. They’re getting ready to put it on in Chicago. His people have a theatre there that’s not engaged just now. There’s to be an elegant production—first-class people and everything. Baggot’s gone on to look after the rehearsals. We ought to have it here by the first of the year—or earlier, if a number two company is organized.”
“I hadn’t heard,” said Baron. “I haven’t seen Baggot lately.” With intention he spoke listlessly. Thornburg wasn’t coming to the point, and he didn’t intend to be played like a fish.
An uncomfortable silence fell again, and again Baron found himself listening intently.
And then he could bear the suspense no longer. He leaned toward Thornburg with animation. “Look here, Thornburg,” he said, “I don’t believe you’re playing fair!”
“You might explain that,” responded the manager curtly.
“You know what the agreement was. I don’t believe she’d stay away like this unless she’d been restrained.”