"Yes; and he heard it all."
"Why, I think that's just a _fine_ idea," declared Nelly, as they
entered the restaurant. Though her little manner of dignity and
even restraint was evident as ever, she seemed keenly joyous
over his genius.
"Say, that's a corking idea for a play, Wrenn," exclaimed Tom,
at their table, gallantly removing the ladies' wraps.
"It surely is," agreed Mrs. Arty.
"Why don't you write it?" asked Nelly.
"Aw--I couldn't write it!"
"Why, sure you could, Bill," insisted Tom. "Straight; you
ought to write it. (Hey, waiter! Four fries and coffee!)
You ought to write it. Why, it's a wonder; it 'd make a dev--
'Scuse me, ladies. It'd make a howling hit. You might make a
lot of money out of it."
The renewed warmth of their wet feet on the red-tile floor, the
scent of fried oysters, the din of "Any Little Girl" on the
piano, these added color to this moment of Mr. Wrenn's great
resolve. The four stared at one another excitedly. Mr. Wrenn's
eyelids fluttered. Tom brought his hand down on the table with
a soft flat "plob" and declared: "Say, there might be a lot
of money in it.
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