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A time-polished shelf, as old as the house itself, provided the afore-said bartender with a place on which to spread his elbows while not actively engaged in advancing mugs and bottles from more remote resting-places at his back. "Everything comes through 'the hole in the wall," explained Rushcroft, wrinkling his face into a smile.
I am taking lessons, Mr. Barnes." She was still warmly conscious of the thrill that had come into her blood when he carried her up the stairs in his powerful arms, disdaining the offer of assistance from the suddenly infatuated Tommy Gray. "Rehearsal at eleven sharp," announced Mr. Rushcroft, arising from the window-sill on which he was seated. "Letter perfect, every one of you. No guessing.
Only the presence of the "backer" and the extremely pretty and cultured "friend of the family" in "front" prevented sanguinary encounters among the male contenders for the centre of the stage. The usually placid Mr. Dillingford was transformed into a snarling beast every time one of his "lines" was cut out by the relentless Rushcroft, and there were times when Mr.
She got it after a bitter and protracted fight. Infidelity. Nothing so rotten as cruelty or desertion, no sir!" "Ahem!" coughed Miss Tilly. "The dear old girl married again," sighed Mr. Rushcroft, helping himself to Barnes' butter. "Did very well, too. Man in the wine trade.
Being assured that she was just a plain damn' fool and not crazy, he returned and said a great many unpleasant things in the presence of Miss Tilly, who fortunately did not hear them. "You've spoiled a very good waitress, Rushcroft," said Barnes. "And a very good appetite as well," growled the Star.
Barnes had been immersed in his own thoughts for some time. A slight frown, as of reflection, darkened his eyes. Suddenly, perhaps impolitely, he interrupted Mr. Rushcroft's flow of eloquence. "Have you any objection, Mr. Rushcroft, to a more or less personal question concerning your own private er misfortunes?" he asked, leaning forward. For a moment one could have heard a pin drop. Mr.
"They're all alike," announced Mr. Rushcroft despairingly, addressing the rafters. He meant hotels in general. "They're all alike," vouchsafed the clerk in an aside to the "drummer" who leaned against the counter, meaning stage-folk in general. "You're both right," said the travelling salesman, who knew. "Is there a cafe in the neighbourhood?" inquired Barnes, with authority.
He hadn't much use for the great Lyndon Rushcroft. His grin was sardonic. Something told him that Mr. Rushcroft was about to be liberally fed. Mr. Rushcroft explained that he had had his supper. In fact, he went on to confess, he had been compelled, like the dog, to "speak" for it.
"It has just entered his bean that you may be an actor, Mr. Barnes," said Bacon. Miss Tilly, overhearing, drew a step or two nearer. A sudden interest in Mr. Barnes developed. She had not noticed before that he was an uncommonly good-looking fellow. She always had said that she adored strong, "athletic" faces. "Hence the insult," said Mr. Rushcroft bitterly.
Now, who the devil is she and what has become of her?" Mr. Rushcroft as furious when he arose at eleven o'clock on the morning after the double murder, having slept like a top through all of the commotion. He boomed all over the place, vocal castigations falling right and left on the guilty and the innocent without distinction. He wouldn't have missed the excitement for anything in the world.
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