It was over a month later that the manager finally prevailed upon their leading man to week-end with them. He buttonholed Brooks after the performance one Saturday night and refused to take “no” for an answer.
“Say, John, getting upstage? Cut your swell friends this week. You’re coming out with us, ain’t he kiddo?”
[187]
] They were standing within the stage door. Cleeburg linked a persuasive arm in the other man’s.
Gloria smiled without looking directly at Brooks. She drew her squirrel wrap close about her and stepped out of the light.
“John’s always welcome, of course. But if he has other plans we mustn’t interfere.”
“You don’t say!” laughed Cleeburg. “Well, he’s going to chuck any other plans and give us the pleasure of his society.”
Brooks held a light to his cigarette. The flare of it illumined his set mouth, the line of his jaw.
“Another time, old man. There’s a game on at the club to-morrow afternoon.”
“Good! That being the case, we’ll save you money.” He started down the narrow alley to the street.
Brooks looked across at Gloria. She was looking down, struggling with the clasp of her glove.