his eyes on the harbor where the Lileth, like a painted ship, graced a painted ocean.
"My boy," Trimmer was saying, "I have made the public stop, look and listen. When I get my last publicity in the shape of an 'In Memoriam' let them run that tag on my headstone. And the story of me that I guess will be told longest after I am gone, is the one about the grape juice that I—"
He paused. His audience was not listening; he felt it intuitively. Mr. Minot sat with his eyes on the Lileth. In the bow of that handsome boat a red light had been waved three times.
"Mr. Trimmer," Minet said, "your tales are more interesting than the classics." He stood. "Some other time I hope to hear a continuation of them. Just at present Lord Harrowby—or Mr. if you prefer—is waiting to hear what arrangement I have made with you. You must pardon me."
"I can talk as we walk along," said Trimmer, and proved it. In the middle of the deserted plaza they separated. At the dark stage door
