“My syndicate. They spoke of a rustic cottage, standing back from the road, in which to spend the autumn of my life.”
“How dared they! What did you answer?”
“I told them to read the theatrical news—that was all.”
“Bravo!” applauded Ronald, with great sincerity, adding: “Then, by Jove! if you did this play, starring yourself and Morny, wouldn’t it be a terrific smack in the eye for them!”
“I am nearly seventy,” replied Eliphalet, “and I suppose it is wrong and foolish at such an age, but I would like to show ’em something, I would!”
“Why don’t you?” said Ronald and Mornice, in one voice.
When, some three days later, Eliphalet sought Freddie Manning, wisest and most energetic of stage-managers, and told him what had happened and what he intended to do, Freddie spoke up boldly.
“Don’t you, Guv’nor!”
“I shall, Manning. It’s a final cast, and I mean to go out with a flourish. We shall advertise it as a farewell tour. New scenery—posters—everything.”
“And who’s backing you?”