“Who needs me?” Tom asked in a contemptuous voice.
“I do for one,” Peggy said. “I’m just starting out in the theater, Mr. Agate. You know so much and I know so little. When I think of the things you could tell me—the things you could teach me!” Peggy paused and lowered her voice. “Let me try to explain this way. Today—this afternoon—I met a little boy. His name is Tommy Stanton. Actually, he was the one who led me here.”
The old man started. “Tommy!” he cried delightedly. “How is he?”
“He’s lonely,” Peggy said. “He misses you. You taught him how to play the banjo and he loved you for it. He’s been practicing every day, Mr. Agate, and he’s much better than he was before. He told me to tell you that.”
“Tommy said that?”
“Yes. And he said another thing. He said that he wanted you to come back because he wanted to play for you. He’s proud of what he’s learned, but he needs more help. Your help.” Peggy reached out and took one of Tom Agate’s hands in hers. “In a way, we’re like Tommy Stanton. We need you and we want you.”
The old man sat silently, making no effort to remove his hand. “I can’t come back with the same old routines,” he said. “People are tired of them. They’ve heard them all a thousand times. There’s no point in returning with the old familiar bag of tricks.”
“But you don’t have to,” Peggy cried. “There are all sorts of new things for you to do.”
“What, for instance?”
“A play. You’ve never acted in a straight play before. Think of it! Tom Agate in a play!”