“All the better,” Tom cried gaily. “Then Peggy can play the part. How about the mother? I see she’s got a big part.”
“It is a big part,” Peter admitted. “We’re centering the play around her.”
Tom frowned. “Is that a good idea? Just from the little I’ve read, I would have thought that the play belonged to the old woman.”
“Well, we’ve got a big name, you see,” Peter explained.
Tom nodded understandingly. “Who is it?”
“Katherine Nelson.”
The transformation in Tom came without warning. All color left him and his face suddenly became drawn and old. “Who did you say?” he whispered in a small, shocked voice.
“Katherine Nelson,” Peter repeated. “Why?”
It seemed an effort for Tom to breathe. The script fell from his hand as he slowly rose to his feet. He shook his head like a drunken man. “No,” he murmured thickly. “I—I can’t.”
Peggy stepped forward. “Can’t what?” she asked in a concerned voice. “Are you all right?”