“No, no, no,” wailed the director. “What ails you this morning, Rannie? You’re saying good-bye to the girl—you love her, love her, love her. You’ll probably never see her again.”
“The hell I won’t,” replied the actor. “Then the thing’s a flop right now.”
“You know what I mean—you think you’ll never see her again. Her father has just kicked you out of the house forever. A bit of a critic, the father. But come on—this is the big farewell. Your heart is broken. Broken, my boy—what are you grinning about?”
“Come on, Diane,” said the actor. “I’m never going to see you again, and I’m supposed to be sorry about it. Ye gods, the things these script-writers imagine. However, here goes. My art’s equal to anything.”
Eden strolled over to where the white-haired patriarch and Eddie Boston were sitting together on a pile of lumber beside the barn. Near at hand, Ah Kim hovered, all eyes for these queer antics of the white men.
Boston leaned back and lighted a pipe. “Speaking of Madden,” he remarked, “makes me think of Jerry Delaney. Ever know Jerry, Pop?”
Startled, Eden moved nearer. The old man put his hand behind his ear.
“Who’s that?” he inquired.
“Delaney,” shouted Boston. Chan also edged closer. “Jerry Delaney. There was one smooth worker in his line, Pop. I hope I get a chance—I’m going to ask Madden if he remembers—”
A loud outcry for Mr. Boston arose in the patio, and he laid down his pipe and fled. Chan and Bob Eden looked at each other.
