“Will you have to do that?”
“You know the figures—they don’t improve!”
“I suppose that dishes my play.”
Farson had been hard at work during the summer on a play of American life, based largely on material that Louisiana Delacourt had contributed in a series of amusing confidences about her own experiences, before her departure to complete her education in Europe. It was to be called Her Great Adventure, and had been coming on very fast latterly. The plan between the two friends had been to try it out toward the close of the present season, and, if the play proved successful, to open with it in the fall.
“I hadn’t thought about your play,” Brainard exclaimed sympathetically. “We must keep the house open until we can produce Her Great Adventure. There’s money enough in the bank for that.” He patted his secretary affectionately on the back. “But finish it, my boy, as soon as you can. That place eats money, and when the news leaks we shan’t be able to keep our company together long. Can you be ready by the first of March?”
“It will have to be ready! It’s awfully good of you, Brainard; and the play might possibly make money, you know.”
“If that happens, it will break all records for the People’s. We will give it every chance, anyway. How shall we cast it? Will Clara Dudley do for the girl?”
Forgetting all about Krutzmacht’s new widow and their financial predicament they began to discuss the cast for Her Great Adventure. The leading character was a young woman who had come fearlessly and pennilessly out of the great West, to find a career in New York. Brainard remarked suddenly:
“The woman to play that part is Louisiana herself.” Farson, for some reason, did not welcome the suggestion strongly. He preferred to take his chances with a more experienced actress. “Where is Louisiana, by the way? You haven’t given me any news of her for some time,” Brainard asked.
Farson blushed slightly as he replied: