“Listen, Freddie!” said Wally feverishly. “On some other occasion I should dearly love to hear the story of your life, but just now —”
“Absolutely, old man. You're perfectly right. Well, to cut a long story short, Nelly Bryant told me that she and Jill were rehearsing with a piece called 'The Rose of America.'“
“'The Rose of America!'“
“I think that was the name of it.”
“That's Ike Goble's show. He called me up on the phone about it half an hour ago. I promised to go and see a rehearsal of it tomorrow or the day after. And Jill's in that?”
“Yes. How about it? I mean, I don't know much about this sort of thing, but do you think it's the sort of thing Jill ought to be doing?”
Wally was moving restlessly about the room. Freddie's news had disquieted him. Mr Goble had a reputation.
“I know a lot about it,” he replied, “and it certainly isn't.” He scowled at the carpet. “Oh, damn everybody!”
Freddie paused to allow him to proceed, if such should be his wish, but Wally had apparently said his say. Freddie went on to point out an aspect of the matter which was troubling him greatly.
“I'm sure poor old Derek wouldn't like her being in the chorus!”
Wally started so violently that for a moment Freddie was uneasy.
“I mean Underhill,” he corrected himself hastily.
“Freddie,” said Wally, “you're an awfully good chap, but I wish you would exit rapidly now! Thanks for coming and telling me, very good of you. This way out!”
“But, old man — !”
“Now what?”
“I thought we were going to discuss this binge and decide what to do and all that sort of thing.”
“Some other time. I want to think about it.”
“Oh, you will think about it?”
“Yes, I'll think about it.”
“Topping! You see, you're a brainy sort of feller, and you'll probably hit something.”
“I probably shall, if you don't go.”
“Eh? Oh, ah, yes!” Freddie struggled into his coat. More than ever did the adult Wally remind him of the dangerous stripling of years gone by. “Well, cheerio!”
“Same to you!”
“You'll let me know if you scare up some devilish fruity wheeze, won't you? I'm at the Biltmore.”
“Very good place to be. Go there now.”
“Right ho! Well, toodle-oo!”
“The elevator is at the foot of the stairs,” said Wally. “You press the bell and up it comes. You hop in and down you go. It's a great invention! Good night!”
“Oh, I say. One moment —”
“Good
He closed the door, and ran down the passage.
“Jill!” he called. He opened the bedroom window and stepped out. “Jill!”
There was no reply.
“Jill!” called Wally once again, but again there was no answer.
Wally walked to the parapet, and looked over. Below him the vastness of the city stretched itself in a great triangle, its apex the harbor, its sides the dull silver of the East and Hudson rivers. Directly before him, crowned with its white lantern, the Metropolitan Tower reared its graceful height to the stars. And all around, in the windows of the tall buildings that looked from this bastion on which he stood almost squat, a million lights stared up at him, the unsleeping eyes of New York. It was a scene of which Wally, always sensitive to beauty, never tired: but tonight it had lost its appeal. A pleasant breeze from the Jersey shore greeted him with a quickening whisper of springtime and romance, but it did not lift the heaviness of his heart. He felt depressed and apprehensive.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1.
Spring, whose coming the breeze had heralded to Wally as he smoked upon the roof, floated graciously upon New York two mornings later. The city awoke to a day of blue and gold and to a sense of hard times over and good times to come. In a million homes, a million young men thought of sunny afternoons at the Polo Grounds; a million young women of long summer Sundays by the crowded waves of Coney Island. In his apartment on Park Avenue, Mr Isaac Goble, sniffing the gentle air from the window of his breakfast-room, returned to his meal and his
