Obermuller took it and tore it open. He smiled the oddest smile as he read it, and he threw back his head and laughed a full, hearty bellow when he got to the end.
"Read it, Nance," he said, passing it over to me. "They sent it on from the office."
I read it. "Mr. Fred W. Obermuller, Manager Vaudeville Theater, New York City, N.Y.:
Dear Obermuller:—I have just learned from your little protegee, Nance Olden, of a comedy you've written. From what Miss Olden tells me of the plot and situations of And the Greatest of These—your title's great—I judge the thing to be something altogether out of the common; and my secretary and reader, Mr. Mason, agrees with me that properly interpreted and perhaps touched up here and there, the comedy ought to make a hit.
Would Miss Olden take the leading role, I wonder?
Can't you drop in this evening and talk the matter over? There's an opening for a fellow like you with us that's just developed within the past few days, and—this is strictly confidential—I have succeeded in convincing Braun and Lowenthal that their enmity is a foolish personal matter which business men shouldn't let stand in the way of business. After all, just what is there between you and them? A mere trifle; a misunderstanding that half an hour's talk over a bottle of wine with a good cigar would drive away.
If you're the man I take you for you'll drop in this evening at the Van Twiller and bury the hatchet. They're good fellows, those two, and smart men, even if they are stubborn as sin.
Counting on seeing you to-night, my dear fellow,
I am most cordially,
I. M. TAUSIG."
I dropped the letter and looked over at Obermuller.
"Miss Olden," he said severely, coming over to my side of the table, "have you the heart to harm a generous soul like that?"