"Sometime is never," he snapped. "That won't do."
The Arden magic was quite gone by this time. He was scowling a little and thrust out his upper lip in a way Tony did not care for at all. It occurred to her inconsequentially that he looked a good deal like the wolf, in the story, who threatened to "huff and puff" until he blew in the house of the little pigs. She didn't want her house blown in. She wished Uncle Phil would come. She stooped to gather up her roses as if they might serve as a barricade between her and the wolf. But suddenly she forgot her misgivings again, for Max Hempel was saying incredible things, things which set her imagination agog and her pulses leaping. He was offering her a small role, a maid's part, in one of his road companies.
"Me!" she gasped from behind her roses.
"You."
"When?"
"To-morrow—the day after—next week at the latest. Chances like that don't go begging long, young lady. Will you take it?"
"Oh, I wish I could!" sighed Tony. "But I am afraid I can't. Oh, there is
Uncle Phil!" she interrupted herself to exclaim with perceptible relief.
In a moment Doctor Holiday was with them, his arm around Tony while he acknowledged the introduction to the stage manager, who eyed him somewhat uncordially. The two men took each the other's measure. Possibly a spark of antagonism flashed between them for an instant. Each wanted the lovely little Rosalind on his own side of the fence, and each suspected the other of desiring to lure her to the other side if he could. For the moment however, the advantage was all with the doctor, with his protecting arm around Tony.
"Holiday!" muttered Hempel. "There was a Holiday once who married one of the finest actresses of the American stage—carried her off to nurse his babies. I never forgave that man. He was a brute."
Tony stiffened. Her eyes flashed. She drew away from her uncle and confronted the stage manager angrily.