"I generally go into the Lotus," Philip lied. "To-night I had a fancy to come here."
"The Lotus is too far up town for us fellows," Bridges remarked. "We need a drink, a little supper, and to see our pals quickly when the night's work is over. I hear great things of the new play, Mr. Ware, but I don't know when you'll get a chance to produce it. Were you in the house tonight?"
"Only for a moment."
"Going stronger than ever," Bridges continued impressively. "Yes, thanks, I'll take a Scotch highball," he added, in response to Philip's mute invitation, "plenty of ice, Mick. There wasn't a seat to be had in the house, and I wouldn't like to say what old Fink had to go through before he could get his box for the great Sylvanus."
"His box?" Philip queried.
"The theatre belongs to Sylvanus Power, you know," Bridges explained. "He built it five years ago."
"For a speculation?"
The actor fidgeted for a moment with his tumbler.
"No, for Miss Dalstan," he replied.
Philip set his teeth hard. The temptation to pursue the conversation was almost overpowering. The young man himself, though a trifle embarrassed, seemed perfectly willing to talk. At least it was better to know the truth! Then another impulse suddenly asserted itself. Whatever he was to know he must learn from her lips and from hers only.
"Well, I should think it's turned out all right," he remarked.
