“You fellows want to get this thing straight in your heads,” the Worm continued, ignoring Peter. “Her reasons aren't by any means so weak. In the first place the thing comes to her as a real chance to express in the widest possible way her own protest against conventionality. As Zanin has told her, she will be able to express naturalness and honesty of life to millions where Isadora Duncan, with all her perfect art, can only reach thousands. Yes, Zanin is appealing to her best qualities. And, at that, I'm not at all sure that he isn't honest in it.' “Honest!” snorted Peter. “Yes, honest. I don't say he is. I say I'm not sure.... Then another argument with her is that he has really been helping her to grow. He has given her a lot--and without making any crude demands. Obligations have grown up there, you see. She knows that his whole heart is in it, that it's probably his big chance; and while the girl is modest enough she can see how dependent the whole plan is on her.” “But--but--but”--Peter again!--“think what she'll find herself up against--the people she'll have to work with--the vulgarity. “I don't know,” mused the Worm. “I'm not sure it would bother her much. Those things don't seem to touch her. And she isn't the sort to be stopped by conventional warnings, anyway. She'll have to find it out all for herself.” The Worm gave himself up again to the experiment with smoke rings. He blew one--another--a third--at the curtain hook..The fourth wavered down over the hook, hung a second, broke and trailed off into the atmosphere. “.Got it!” said the Worm, to himself. “Who's the manager he's picked up?” asked Hy. “Fellow named Silverstone. Head of a movie producing company.” Peter, to whom this name was, apparently, the last straw, shivered a little, sprang to his feet, and for the second time within the hour rushed blindly off into solitude. CHAPTER VII--PETER THINKS ABOUT THE PICTURES |WHEN Hy set out for dinner, a little later, he found Peter sitting on a bench in the Square. “Go in and get your overcoat,” said Hy. “Unless you're out for pneumonia.” “Hy,” said Peter, his color vivid, his eyes wild, “we can't let those brutes play with Sue; like that. We've got to save her.” Hy squinted down at his bamboo stick. “Very good, my son. But just how?” “If I could talk with her, Hy!... I know that game so well!” “You could call her up--” “Call her up nothing! I can't ask to see her and start cold.” He gestured vehemently. “Look here, you're seeing Betty every day--you fix it.” Hy mused. “They're great hands to take tramps in the country, those two. Most every Sunday.... If I could arrange a little party of four.... See here! Betty's going to have dinner with me to-morrow night.” “For God's sake, Hy, get me in on it!” “Now you just wait! Sue'll be playing to-morrow night at the Crossroads, It's Saturday, you know.” Peter's face fell.