“That business of hanging your question on a string is great stuff,” laughed Laurie. “I recommend that you try it out on Cordie.”
Then in a more sober tone, he said:
“You see it was this way: My publishers saw that my book was going to go across rather big and, since I was to benefit financially in its success, they thought it would be nice for me to have a part in making it a still greater—um—um, triumph. So they cooked up that idea about my speaking to ladies’ clubs. I knew I couldn’t do it, but I knew also that Sam would make me do it if I stuck around. Everyone does what Sam wants them to do; that is, they do if they stay where he is.
“So I said to myself, ‘If I must help sell my books, I’ll do it in a straightforward way right over the counter. I’ll get a job.’ I did. And just so Sam couldn’t find me and drag me away, I came to this city and took an assumed name.
“Sam’s a sort of salesman for my publishers; that is, he sells books when he isn’t promoting authors. When I saw him in the store that time I just naturally had to disappear.
“I think, though,” he added, “that even Sam is satisfied. We sold two thousand copies of ‘Blue Flames,’ you and Donnie and Rennie and all the rest.
“As for my knowing the lady of the hour,” he smiled, touching the arm of Miss Diurno, “I’ve known her for some time. And on some future lovely day in June, when my income has come to be half as much as hers, we’re going to move into a certain lovely little vine covered cottage I know about and set up a nest all for ourselves.”
“Good!” exclaimed Lucile. “Can’t I come to see you?”
“My dear,” said the great musician, “you may come and live with us, both you and Cordie, live with us forever.”
“Cordie, your turn to be questioned,” said Laurie.