“We have four days more, Manning. We can’t afford to leave it like this. I shall get a producer from London—at any price.”
He rushed to the nearest Post Office and wired to Raymond Wakefield, begging him to name his terms to attend a rehearsal of ‘A Man’s Way.’ “If not for terms, then come in pity,” he ended.
Wakefield wired to say he would arrive next morning by eleven-thirty.
Eliphalet called a full-dress rehearsal, with lights, for two o’clock, and met Wakefield at the station.
Even though several years had passed since their last meeting, Eliphalet was struck with the same extraordinary appearance of youthfulness borne by the eminent producer.
“I’ve come for love, Mr. Cardomay, and because your wire breathed tragedy. What’s the sorrow?”
“Second childhood,” said Eliphalet pathetically.
“Producing ‘A Man’s Way,’ aren’t you? Must say it surprised me a bit. Plucky of you. Good play. Came to us once.”
“You know it, then?”
“Yes; thought of putting it up.”