“Well,” said Carlton, reaching for his hat and stick, “it strikes me that your well-beloved and highly valuable central planet draws drama as molasses draws flies. Pardon the homely simile, but, like most geniuses, I was reared in Indiana.” “He’s a queer sort of chap,” said Jim, looking at the tall actor as he stood talking to Dukane, his heavy, handsome profile clearly outlined against an electric light. “Queer? He’s a first-class mystery. ‘He came like water, and like wind he goes’—though I hope he’ll prove a bit more stable as a dramatic investment. Seriously, no one knows anything about him. He’s Western, I believe, and I suppose Dukane fell over him some dark night when he was out prospecting for obscure and undiscovered genius.” “He’s good looking.” “My son,” said Carlton, whose familiarity and colloquialism were in striking contrast to the grandiloquent lines he gave his characters to speak, “wait till you see him in khaki, with the foots half up and a little incidental music on the violins going on! Manly beauty is not a hobby of mine, but I’ve had experience with matinée idols, and I bet that Mortimer is there with the goods. What are you laughing at?” “The difference between your stage dialogue and your ordinary conversation.” “Oh, well, I can’t help talking slang, and I don’t know how to write it so that it sounds like anything but the talk of a tough bunch in a corner joint.” He stopped abruptly at the entrance to the box and said, as though acting on impulse: “See here, speaking of Mortimer, did you ever see a three-ring circus?” “Yes. I always found it very confusing.” “Me, too. Mortimer doesn’t. He likes it. Takes three at least to make him feel homelike and jolly. He’s been—between ourselves—the temperamental lover with Grace Templeton, and the prospective fiancé with Miss Legaye; at least, that’s how I dope it out; and now it looks as though he was going to be the bold, bad kidnaper with this charming child just arrived in our midst. What do you think, from what you’ve seen to-day?” “He hasn’t been himself to-day,” answered Barrison. “And, anyhow, there can’t be a three-ring circus with one of the three features absent. Miss Templeton, I understand, is not to be counted any longer.” He spoke with rather forced lightness. He disliked bringing women into conversation. He did Carlton the justice, however, to see that it was not a vulgar predilection for gossip which centralized his interest in the three who had received Mortimer’s attention. Obviously he looked upon them as cold-bloodedly as did Dukane; they were part of his stock in trade, his “shop.” “Not to be counted any longer! Isn’t she just? If you’d ever seen the lady you’d know that you couldn’t lose her just by dismissing her.” Barrison had seen her, but he said nothing.