“I was born on Friday,” I said. I could think of nothing else.
“Didn’t I say it was my lucky day? But you mustn’t sit here. What do you say to a cup of tea in the restarant?”
How grown up and like a debutante I felt, dear Dairy, going to have tea as if I had it every day at School, with a handsome actor across! Although somwhat uneasy also, owing to the posibility of the Familey coming in. But it did not and I had a truly happy hour, not at all spoiled by looking out the window and seeing Jane going by, with her eyes popping out, and walking very slowly so I would invite her to come in.
Which I did not.
Dear Dairy, he will do it. At first he did not understand, and looked astounded. But when I told him of Carter being in the advertizing busness, and father owning a large mill, and that there would be reporters and so on, he became thoughtfull.
“It’s realy incredably clever,” he said. “And if it’s pulled off right it ought to be a Stampede. But I’d like to see Mr. Brooks. We can’t have it fail, you know.” He leaned over the table. “It’s straight goods, is it, Miss—er—Barbara? There’s nothing foney about it?”
“Foney!” I said, drawing back. “Certainly not.”
He kept on leaning over the table.
“I wonder,” he said, “what makes you so interested in the Play?”
Oh, Dairy, Dairy!