Before he found his glasses he was demoniac with rage. He rubbed them on his sleeve, set them in place, and again a departing wall obstructed his view. An actress and an actor walked into him. At last he found the clear stage ahead of him. He made out a group at the center of it. McNish, Batterson, and Prior were in jovial conference, slapping each other’s shoulders and chortling with the new wine of success.
He brushed by them and saw Sheila at last. Reben was holding her by one arm; his other hand was on Eldon’s shoulder. He was telling them of the big leap in the box-office receipts.
Sheila seemed rapturous with pride and contentment. Bret saw her murmur something to Eldon. He could not hear what it was, but he heard Eldon chuckle delightedly. Then he called:
“Eldon!”
Eldon looked forward just in time to see Bret coming on like a striding giant, just in time to see the big arm swing up in a rigid drive, shoulder and side and all.
The clenched fist caught Eldon under the chin and sent him backward across a heavy table.
CHAPTER XL
The thud of the fist, the grunt of Bret’s effort, the shriek of Sheila, the clatter of Eldon’s fall, the hubbub of the startled spectators, were all jumbled.
When Eldon, dazed almost to unconsciousness, gathered himself together for self-defense and counter attack, the stage was revolving about him. Instinctively he put up his guard, clenched his right fist, and shifted clear of the table.
Then his anger flamed through his bewilderment. He realized who had struck him, and he dimly understood why. A blaze of rage against this foreigner, this vandal, shot up in his soul, and he advanced on Winfield with his arm drawn back. But he found Winfield struggling with Batterson and McNish, who had flung themselves on him, grappling his arms. Eldon stopped with his fists poised. He could not strike that unprotected face, though it was gray with hatred of him.