"I don't know what's come over Bab," I heard Sis say to Carter Brooks.
"She's crazy, I think."
"She's seventeen," he said. "That's all. They get over it mostly, but
she has it hard."
I lothed him.
Pretty soon the other crowd came up, and I could see every one knew the
joke but Mr. Beecher. They all scuttled into their doorways, and Mr.
Patten waited till Mr. Beecher was inside and had thrown out the shirt
of his bathing Suit. Then he locked the door from the outside.
There was a silence for a minute. Then Mr. Beecher said in a terrable
voice.
"So that's the Game, is it?"
"Now listen, Reg," Mr. Patten said, in a soothing voice. "I've tried
everything but Force, and now I'm driven to that. I've got to have that
third Act. The company's got the first two acts well under way, and I'm
getting wires about every hour. I've got to have that script."
"You go to Hell!" said Mr. Beecher. You could hear him plainly through
the window, high up in the wall. And although I do not approve of an
oath, there are times when it eases the tortured Soul.
"Now be reasonable, Reg," Mr. Patten pleaded. "I've put a fortune in
this thing, and you're lying down on the job. You could do it in four
hours if you'd put your mind to it."
There was no anser to this. And he went on: "I'll send out food or anything. But nothing to drink. There's Champane
on the ice for you when you've finished, however. And you'll find pens
and ink and paper on the table."
The anser to this was Mr. Beecher's full weight against the door. But it
held, even against the full force of his fine physic.
"Even if you do break it open," Mr. Patten said, "you can't go very far
the way you are. Now be a good fellow, and let's get this thing done.
It's for your good as well as mine. You'll make a Fortune out of it."
Then he went into his own door, and soon came out, looking like a
gentleman, unless one knew, as I did, that he was a Whited Sepulcher.
How long I sat there, paralized with emotion, I do not know. Hannah
came out and roused me from my Trance of grief. She is a kindly soul,
although to afraid of mother to be helpful.
"Come in like a good girl, Miss Bab," she said. "There's that fruit
salad that cook prides herself on, and I'll ask her to brown a bit of
sweetbread for you."