“I have lived on less,” he said.
“Then I repeat, what about it?”
“If you’ll do a play of mine I’ll think more kindly of the offer.”
“Send it right along. And in the meantime—”
“You let me know about the play and I’ll let you know about the producing.”
“Very well—today is Friday. Shall we say Friday week?”
“I’ll come and see you at eleven o’clock.”
“And you like the idea?”
“I like everything. I’m in love with the world today.”
At dinner Wynne drank a large quantity of champagne, and insisted that every one else in the immediate neighbourhood should do likewise. As he drank his spirits rose, and so also did his voice. There was a great deal of laughter and much wit—and the wit was accorded more laughter than it deserved. After dinner there were brandies and sodas and more wit—lots of wit—so much wit that every one was witty at once and missed their neighbour’s scintillations. Under the influence of the brandies and sodas wit ripened to adventure. Many and glorious were the adventures recited, and it seemed that all save Wynne had adventured deeply. He leaned against the mantelshelf and looked at the brave with bright eyes.