son is here only for a few days." Then to Emerson: "I prefer to go home … really I do. Call me tomorrow at the Algonquin."
Howard's confusion grew, "I don't want to stand between you and Mr. Emerson." He stopped. Norah was closing her dressing-room door. She approached.
"Evening, Ken," she said. "Howdy, Howard."
Howard tipped his hat. "I apologize," he said. His voice, usually mild and persuasive, now was underscored with anger.
"I have waited for Mr. Gracey so long." Emerson's single eye twinkled. "Still, I prefer not to intrude. I leave you to him this evening. Tomorrow we meet at my apartment for dinner, my boy?"
"Yes," Ken said.
"At the Balfour on Washington Square, then, six o'clock … informal. I'll send my car."
The man with the glass eye replaced his monocle, bowed low and disappeared into the deep shadows of the stage door alley.
"Howard, forgive me," Ken said. "I am tired. Tomorrow night. Please."
Nellie Nasmuth visited Ken in his dressing-room, during the Thursday matinee.
"My spies have been sending me reports that you are going over to the enemy," she said. "What's up?"
Ken was unprepared for Nellie's remark. She sat on his wardrobe trunk, her feet dangling over the side.
"I don't get you," he parried.
"I'll be explicit, Kennie. I hear you have not only
