“Hello, author!” said someone from behind her and she swung about to face Curt Newsom, who had walked up unheralded.
“Hello, Curt. Sit down. My, but I’m glad to see you. Are you all right after the fire?”
The cowboy smiled. “As right as I’ll ever be. I was scared half to death that night. Say, I saw Billy Fenstow this morning. The picture’s all together now and they’re going to screen it at the Bijou down the street after the regular feature. Better be there tonight.”
“I’ll be there in fear and trembling,” smiled Janet.
“Oh, I wouldn’t feel that way about it. I think you did a lot better than most of the girls I’ve had in the company.”
“Thanks, Curt. That was nice of you to say that, but I realize I have very definite limitations as an actress.”
“Well, I’m not so hot as an actor,” he admitted. “About all I have to do is stick on a horse and shoot a gun loaded with blank cartridges.”
“That isn’t all and you know it,” reproved Janet.
Curt looked at the typewriter and the blank sheet of paper.
“I’m keeping you from your work. I only dropped in to tell you about the preview tonight. I’ve got to get along.”