We faced each other over those vitle words—faced, and found no solution.
“Is it a good Play?” he asked, at last.
“It is a beautiful Play. Oh, Carter, when at the end he takes his Sweetheart in his arms—the leading lady, and not at all atractive. Jane Raleigh says that the star generaly hates his leading lady—there is not a dry eye in the house.”
“Must be a jolly little thing. Well, of course I’m no theatricle manager, but if it’s any good there’s only one way to save it. Advertize. I didn’t know the piece was in town, which shows that the publicaty has been rotten.”
He began to walk the floor. I don’t think I have mentioned it, but that is Carter’s busness. Not walking the floor. Advertizing. Father says he is quite good, although only beginning.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
So I told him that Adrian was a mill worker, and the villain makes him lose his position, by means of forjery. And Adrian goes to jail, and comes out, and no one will give him work. So he prepares to blow up a Milionaire’s house, and his sweetheart is in it. He has been to the Milionaire for work and been refused and thrown out, saying, just before the butler and three footmen push him through a window, in dramatic tones, “The world owes me a living and I will have it.”
“Socialism!” said Carter. “Hard stuff to handle for the two dollar seats. The world owes him a living. Humph! Still, that’s a good line to work on. Look here, Bab, give me a little time on this, eh what? I may be able to think of a trick or two. But mind, not a word to any one.”
He started out, but he came back.
“Look here,” he said. “Where do we come in on this anyhow? Suppose I do think of somthing—what then? How are we to know that your beloved and his manager will thank us for buting in, or do what we sugest?”