“I sent for you,” he said untruthfully, “to ask if you were any relation of the Terrys.”
Eunice’s high hopes came down with a bump.
“Not really a relation,” she answered. “Of course, we know Fred very well.”
“Um!” said Eliphalet. “Well, I trust you’re happy in the company. Good afternoon.”
Eunice turned to go, then, with sudden courage stayed and said: “I was hoping, Mr. Cardomay, you had got something for me in the next show. I’m simply dying to play a part—a big part.”
The unsatisfied fatherly instinct in Eliphalet Cardomay came to the surface, and pointing to a chair, he said:
“Sit down a minute. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty.”
“Have you a father or a mother?”
“No. I used to live with an old aunt. She was a frightful ogre, Mr. Cardomay. Wouldn’t let me go on the stage. So silly.”