orate. Thank heaven, we don’t have the author underfoot interfering all the time.”
“I don’t believe she would interfere.”
“Heard anything from her, lately?”
“No, she is waiting for the production, I suppose.”
“And then the deluge! I may lose you to that story-writing female yet!” she teased him.
“Don’t!” he protested, quickly.
“I won’t,” she retorted, meaningly.
In late March the date of the production was set. It gave Bambi unbelievable pleasure to read the announcements on the billboards, and to stand in front of the three-sheets in the foyer of the theatre.
She wrote Ardelia full directions in regard to packing the Professor’s dress clothes; she told her the train they were to take; she worked out every detail, so that nothing might be left to the sieve-like memories of the principals on this foreign journey.
She ordered a new frock for herself, and succeeded in getting Jarvis measured for new dress clothes. Then she threw herself, heart and soul, into the last few days of work at the theatre, helping to polish and strengthen the play. The night of dress rehearsal came, and with it a new development for her consideration and management.
