"Yes?"
"I talked it over with my brother before he returned to Chicago
yesterday. Thought the firm might be interested."
"Yes?"
"He doesn't see it."
"He--wouldn't."
He bent a sliver of ivory paper knife almost double.
"I should have taken this matter up some time ago, but the sudden death
of my sister Pauline's husband, Doctor Enlow--"
"Mrs. Blair understands that."
"And you?"
"Well," she said, looking off and resolutely keeping her smile, "I guess
it means 'The Web' must resume its journey again."
"No, it doesn't."
"Why?"
"It means that I am going to produce it on my own."
She slid to the edge of the chair, her hand closing over the desk edge.
"Oh! Oh!"
"Isn't that what you want?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is my reason."
"You mean you don't see it, either?"
"But you do."
"But--"
"No 'buts.' She goes into rehearsal for a spring try-out in Baltimore,
Stamford, or any of the dog towns. I'm giving the manuscript to Forbes
to read this week. He's the man to direct that type of thing. I'm going
to throw in ten or twenty thousand on your judgment."
"You're serious?" He held out his lean hand.
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