“And why?”
“You mean go into the movies?” He laughed. “She wouldn’t bother.”
“But––my God! It is Art! What you call movies, and, within, this young lady may hide genius. And genius belongs to Art. And Art belongs to the world!”
The unthinkable idea of Palla on the screen was peculiarly distasteful to him.
“Miss Dumont has no inclination for the movies,” he said.
“Perhaps, Mr. Shotwell,” purred Puma, “if your amiable influence could induce the young lady to have a test made–––”
“There isn’t a chance of it,” said Jim bluntly. Their limousine stopped just then. They got out before one of those new apartment houses on the upper West Side.
Mr. Skidder, it appeared, was in and would receive them.
A negro servant opened the door and ushered them into a parlour where Mr. Elmer Skidder, sprawling over the débris of breakfast, laid aside newspaper and coffee cup and got up to receive them in bath robe and slippers.