“That’s about all I am able to arrange for,” declared Vincent, bluntly.
“I expect a check,” proceeded the newcomer grandly. “Avaricious, but wealthy relative. If I could anticipate till to-morrow, now——”
“Not from me, I can tell you that,” interrupted Vincent definitely.
“Only a dollar. You see——”
“A dime wouldn’t make any difference until I get my settlement from the people who sent me out to starve,” insisted Vincent.
Frank was interested in the odd, airy individual, who struck him as a rather obsolete type of the fraternity. He smiled, and this was encouragement for the frayed actor, who touched his hat again and extended his gloved hand, this time towards Frank, with the words:
“Surely we have met somewhere on the boards? Was it in Philadelphia, when I was press agent for the United Thespian? Perhaps that will assist your memory.”
Frank good-naturedly accepted and glanced over a very dirty and worn card bearing the inscription: “Roderick James Booth: Press Agent.” Frank shook his head,
“I have not had the honor of meeting you before, Mr. Booth,” he said.