“Who?”
“You.”
She laughed and in her laughter the men detected nothing but mirth.
“Don’t you ever have a hankering for the old game, [315] ]Nancy?” Coghlan demanded. “Don’t the theater ever get in your blood?”
She bent and lifted young Dick suddenly to her knees.
“Here’s my theater,” was her answer.
The playwright’s gaze traveled over the two gold heads to the father’s eyes that smiled from the baby face into his mother’s. Fat arms wound round her neck and she sank her lips in the fluffy curls.
“You’ve got a part that suits you to perfection,” he said in a low voice.
“Say, there ain’t any part Nancy couldn’t play! Always said she had class. And take it from me—”
“It’s good to know you haven’t forgotten us,” Thorne interrupted, still in that low tone. “Whenever things get balled up I say to myself: ‘Here goes for a run out to Restawhile. Nancy’ll help me straighten them out.’”