Of all men he most hated to ask Eldon’s help, but Eldon was the sole rescuer on the horizon. He threw off his pride and appealed to the man he had fought with.
“Mr. Eldon, you say you think my wife is a great artist. Will you help me to—to set her to work? I’m afraid for her, Mr. Eldon. I’m afraid that she is going to die. Will you help me?”
“Me? Will I help?” Eldon stammered. “What can I do? I’m not a manager, I have no company, no theater, hardly any influence.”
Bret’s courage went to pieces. He was a stranger in a strange land. “I don’t know any manager—except Reben, and he hates me. I don’t know anything at all about the stage. I only know that my wife wants her career, and I’m going to get it for her if I have to build a theater myself. But that takes time. I thought perhaps you would know some way better than that.”
Eldon was stirred by Bret’s resolution. He said: “There must be a way. I’ll do anything I can—everything I can, for the sake of the stage—and for the sake of an old colleague—and for the sake of—of a man as big as you, Mr. Winfield.”
And now their hands shot out to each other without compunction or restraint and wrestled, as it were, in a tug of peace.
CHAPTER LIV
It was thus that Eugene Vickery found them. His gasp of astonishment ended in a fit of coughing as he came forward, trying to express his amazement and his delight.
Bret seized his right hand, Eldon his left. Bret was horrified at the ghostly visage of his friend. Already it had a post-mortem look.
Vickery saw the shock in Bret’s eyes. He dropped into a seat.