“Well, I guess yes. I came all the way over from Elizabeth to see her.”
“And what d’you think, Davey, I picked that girl almost out of the gutter. Never acted before last month.”
Davey stared. “Say, how many cocktails have you had to-night, old man?”
“Why, that girl was Sarah Dover’s maid!”
“Who? Jean Caspian? Haw-haw-haw!” Davey threw back his head and roared. “Good God! Wasn’t I stage-manager for Guy Norman? I always said she’d go to the top. Say, Littleton, you ought to keep track of these outside winners.”
Littleton was transfixed. His eyes grew small. “How many cocktails have you had, Davey?”
For a moment the two glared at each other in silence. Then Littleton jerked his thumb toward the stage. “Say, come on behind with me.”
Jean opened her dressing-room door in answer to the emphatic knock.
“Well, Miss Caspian,” said Littleton, “you certainly put it over.” He wrung her hand enthusiastically. “But what’s all this about your being with Norman?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered demurely, “I believe I was his leading lady. Oh, how d’you do, Mr. Davey?” She extended her hand, and the two exploded in laughter.