"Regular psychological stuff!" exclaimed Hunt. And then: "Say, you're
some stage-manager! Or rather same playwright! Playwrights that know
tell me it's one of their most difficult tricks--to get all their
leading characters on the stage at the same time. And here you've got
it all fixed to bring on Miss Sherwood, Dick, Maggie, yourself, and
the all-important me--for don't forget I shall be slipping out to
Cedar Crest occasionally."
"As for myself," remarked Larry, "I shall remain very much behind the
scenes. Maggie'll never see me."
"Well, here's hoping you're good enough playwright to manage your
characters so they won't run away from you and mix up an ending you
never dreamed of!"
The car paused again in the drive and Larry got out.
"I say, Larry," Hunt whispered eagerly, "who's that tall, white-haired
man working over there among the roses?"
"Joe Ellison. He's that man I told you about my getting to know in
Sing Sing. Remember?"
"Oh, yes! The crook who was having his baby brought up to be a real
person. Say, he's a sure-enough character! Lordy, but I'd love to
paint that face! . . . So-long, son."
The car swung around the drive and roared away. Larry mounted to the
piazza. Dick was waiting for him, and excitedly drew him down to one
corner that crimson ramblers had woven into a nook for confidences.
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