electric with suppressed excitement. “Sally, the play's going to be put on!”
Sally gave a little gasp. She had lived this moment in anticipation for weeks. She had always known that sooner or later this would happen. She had read his plays over and over again, and was convinced that they were wonderful. Of course, hers was a biased view, but then Elsa Doland also admired them; and Elsa's opinion was one that carried weight. Elsa was another of those people who were bound to succeed suddenly. Even old Mr. Faucitt, who was a stern judge of acting and rather inclined to consider that nowadays there was no such thing, believed that she was a girl with a future who would do something big directly she got her chance.
“Jerry!” She gave his arm a hug. “How simply terrific! Then Goble and Kohn have changed their minds after all and want it? I knew they would.”
A slight cloud seemed to dim the sunniness of the author's mood.
“No, not that one,” he said reluctantly. “No hope there, I'm afraid. I saw Goble this morning about that, and he said it didn't add up right. The one that's going to be put on is 'The Primrose Way.' You remember? It's got a big part for a girl in it.”
“Of course! The one Elsa liked so much. Well, that's just as good. Who's going to do it? I thought you hadn't sent it out again.”
“Well, it happens...” Gerald hesitated once more. “It seems that this man I was dining with to-night—a man named Cracknell...”
“Cracknell? Not the Cracknell?”
“The Cracknell?”
“The one people are always talking about. The man they call the Millionaire Kid.”
“Yes. Why, do you know him?”
“He was at Harvard with Fillmore. I never saw him, but he must be rather a painful person.”
“Oh, he's all right. Not much brains, of course, but—well, he's all right. And, anyway, he wants to put the play on.”
“Well, that's splendid,” said Sally: but she could not get the right ring of enthusiasm into her voice.
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