It was just as well perhaps, because at the point when the producer and sponsor became aware of what was responsible for their vast audience, they began consciously trying to choose and shape each drama towards that moment of anomaly which had made the show famous. And somehow this seemed to spoil it. At any rate it very soon degenerated—back to the same old tripe. And of course it was soon back to the old rating as well—which, as in the early, pre-Grand days, was all right, but nothing, really, to be too proud of.
X
“Would you like to know why I remember that young Laird K. Russell so vividly, Agnes?” Esther was asking.
Ginger Horton sniffed to show unqualified disinterest and murmured something to her sleeping Bitsy.
“Esther, you can’t be serious,” said Agnes, turning to the others with a brilliant smile. “More tea, anyone?”
“I most certainly would like to know,” said Grand, actually coming forward a little on his chair.
“Well,” said Esther, “it was because he looked like my father.”
“Esther, really!” cried Agnes.
“I mean our father, of course,” Esther amended. “Yes, Agnes, he looked just like the photographs of Poppa as a young man. It struck me then, but I didn’t realize it at the time. So perhaps it’s not Laird K. Russell I’m remembering, you see, even now, but those photographs. You didn’t know him, of course, Guy—he was a truly remarkable man.”
“Young Russell do you mean, or Poppa?” asked Guy.