“By godfrey!” he said finally, brushing a hand across his eyes. “Think I’m crying. Ain’t ashamed of it, either.”
She did not answer.
“You, too!” He peered under her lowered lids. “Fine pair of slushes, eh? Well, I want to tell you right now, honey—ain’t a knock-out I ever had that made a hit with me like this does.”
She brought a smile to her silent lips.
“All I’m looking for is the best thing for you,” he went on. “You’re the main guy in this combination. I’m just the old back drop like I told you. If you ain’t going to be happy in London, you don’t go—that’s all. But think it over! I’d like to see my little girl make the Britishers sit up. We’ll give them the once-over this summer. Then you can decide.”
The memory of that afternoon with Gloria against the sunless winter twilight begging not to be sent away from him, was to little ’Dolph like some treasure one keeps in a vault—to be taken out, gazed upon and locked away again. Sometimes in the rear office that was his sanctum, when things had gone wrong or a lull came in the [202] ]day’s activities, he would sink back in his chair, a smile slowly radiating his plain features, and before him would come a woman with arms outstretched toward him as if for protection against all the world. The wonder of it made him glow, sent the worries of business scurrying into the background.
He was seated so one Saturday afternoon between the matinée and evening performances, after having rounded up the tour for next season. The immortal cigar circled contentedly and he lolled back, contemplating a sweep of intense blue sky—but seeing rather the Long Island hills against a somber one—when his secretary brought word that John Brooks was outside and wanted to see him.
Cleeburg nodded.
“Lo, stranger,” he said a bit sheepishly as the latter came in. “Time you showed up.”
“I’ve been trying to see you for the past month,” Brooks informed him, throwing hat and coat on a chair and pulling another close to Cleeburg’s desk, “but you passed me up every time we met. Never mind, old man,” he added with a short smile as the other started to lay down his cigar, “I know why. You were sore at me—and with reason. We’ll let it go at that. I’m sorry.”