“Yes,” Peggy said almost in a whisper. “Except for one thing. You’re not through. You’ve still got your work. People need you—the newspaper needs you. Nobody needs Tom Agate, and he probably thinks nobody wants him.” She stood up and looked down at him. “But we want him.”
Johnny passed a hand over his face and rested his chin on the head of his cane. Slowly his head began to nod. “You’re right,” he said at last. “By gollies, I think you are.” He turned to Peter with an appreciative chuckle. “You should have let her do the talking right from the start.”
“Then you’ll help us?” Peggy cried eagerly.
Johnny got up and hobbled energetically over to a pile of scrapbooks. “I’ll do all I can,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s not going to be much.”
“Johnny!” Peter was over beside the old man, clapping him enthusiastically on the back.
“Take it easy, now,” Johnny protested. “Frankly, I’d give a lot to see Tom Agate back on the stage. Remember that old song of his, ‘Kathleen Aroon’?”
Johnny was chuckling happily now, as if he had been relieved of a great burden of responsibility.
“Hold on.” Peter laughed. “He won’t be doing any songs in Innocent Laughter. It’s a straight play.”
“What a pity,” Johnny sighed. “Did you ever hear him sing?” he asked Peggy. “I guess not,” he said before she could answer. “You’d be too young. But that was his theme song. He used to sing it everywhere. I think he included it in every show he ever played.”
“How does it go?” Peggy asked.