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Or, if you must think, just get your thoughts back on your business." Foster might have expressed himself still more pungently if he had been aware, as Cope was, of an episode which took place, behind the scenes, at the close of the performance. Lemoyne's singing and dancing in the last act had had a marked success: after all, people had come to enjoy and to applaud.
And as for the business.... Well, he had once overheard the elder Lemoyne's partner audibly wonder whether Arthur would ever learn how to ship a keg of nails out of their back door, even. Cope pushed away his coffee-cup and asked the young Greek for a cut of pie. "I sort of sounded father the other day, but he was pretty huffy.
Pearson himself openly luxuriated in the amusing ineptitude of two or three beskirted acquaintances among the upper classmen, but frowned at Lemoyne's light tenor tones and mincing ways.
The annual spring dislocation of ordered student life was indeed a regular feature of the year's last term; yet to push indulgence as far as Arthur Lemoyne was pushing it ! Cope was concerned; then worried. "Arthur," he said, "be reasonable about this. You've got real work to do, remember." But Lemoyne's real work was in the musical comedy.
Think about your new play, or something." "Oh, the devil!" sighed Lemoyne. "Winnebago seems mighty far off. We got on there, at least." He bent again over his desk. Cope put down his book and came across. There were tears, perhaps, in his eyes the moisture of vexation, or of contrition, or of both. "We can get along here, too," he said, with an arm around Lemoyne's shoulder.
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