I don't mind saying to you,--although it's rather sub rosa--
that I have written a play. A four act drama that will pack the
biggest house on Broadway to the roof for as many months as we'd care
to stay. Perhaps you will allow me to talk it over with you a little
later on. You will be interested, I'm sure. I actually shudder
sometimes when I think of the filthy greenbacks I'll have to carry
around on my person if the piece ever gets into New York. Yes, yes,
I'll be glad to talk it over with you. Egad, sir, I'll read the play
to you. I'll--What ho, landlord! When my luggage arrives this evening
will you be good enough to have it placed in the room just vacated by
the late Mr. Roon? My daughter will have the room adjoining, sir. By
the way, will you have your best automobile sent around to the door as
quickly as possible? A couple of my men are going to Hornville--damned
spot!--to fetch hither my--"
"Just a minute," interrupted Putnam Jones, wholly unimpressed. "A man
just called you up on the 'phone, Mr. Barnes. I told him you was
entertaining royalty at lunch and couldn't be disturbed. So he asked
me to have you call him up as soon as you revived. His words, not
mine.
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