“Bright kid,” he said, “—getting away with it, Creevy tells me. Shill and I are putting a lot of money into this picture——”
Passengers from the train just arrived were now pouring out of the exit, recognising waiting friends behind the ropes, signalling them with eager gestures, hurrying around the barriers to meet them.
Annan, ignoring Smull, and intently scanning the throng, finally perceived Ratford Creevy and Emil Shunk. Behind them, in the crowd, were other faces slightly familiar—members of the cast—and suddenly he saw Eris in a turquoise blue toque and summer gown, carrying her satchel,—a lithe, buoyant figure, moving quickly through the gates followed by a red-cap with her luggage.
Smull, perhaps not caring to bend too much at the waist, went around the rope; Annan stooped under it.
“Barry!” she exclaimed in happy surprise.
“It’s been a thousand years,” he said. “I’ve a taxi here——”
Smull, smiling eagerly out of dark eyes set a trifle too closely, and carrying his straw hat in his hand, confronted them.
“How do you do, Mr. Smull,” said Eris gaily, withdrawing her gloved hand from Annan’s and offering it to Smull.
“You’re looking fine, Eris,” he said, with too cordial familiarity. “I just passed Creevy and he says everything went big. Glad you’re back, little lady. I’ve a car here——”
“Thank you, Mr. Smull——”