the sort of time when
one has a cocktail?"

Grierson's eyes lighted up at the suggestion, and Eric rang for ice. He
was in the middle of his preparations when Harry Manders entered in a
suit of light tweeds, clutching a flat-brimmed bowler hat in one hand
and a leather-topped cane in the other.

"'Mornin', Eric. Hullo, Phil! Sinister combination for a poor devil of
an actor-manager--author _and_ agent. What's this you're givin' me?
Well, only up to the top--On my honour, boy, only up to the top!" He
nodded over the brimming glass with a knowing "Well, chin-chin!" and
subsided diagonally into a chair with his legs across one arm.

"I thought Grierson's age and experience might save my play from further
amateur surgery," Eric explained.

"Tootaloo," chirped Manders resiliently and dragged a crumpled script
from his pocket. Eric's obstinate assurance would have exasperated any
other manager, but, as Manders wearily said, "I've been too long at the
game to lose my temper."

With that they settled to work and argued their way through the marked
passages of Manders' copy heatedly and without reaching conviction or
agreement. Once Grierson rose and shook a second cocktail; twice a maid
announced that luncheon was on the table. Something, which he attributed
to his broken night, made Eric unreasonable to a point where he knew
that he was being unreasonable. He was too tired for anything except
sustained obstinacy, and his companions grated on him.

"Oh, let's have something to eat!" he exclaimed at length. "The second
act's got to stand as I wrote it. We shan't do any good by talking. . . ."

"Now don't you be in a hurry, boy," began Manders. "_Turn_ back to the
beginning. . . ."

Eric looked at his watch.

"Don't forget we've a rehearsal," he said. "I don't know what there is
for lunch, but it will be tepid."

"Then let's wait for it to get cold. Now, in the first act you
said--Damn!"

He flapped the script impatiently on his knee as the now familiar knock
of Eric's parlour-maid was heard yet again.

"Lady Barbara Neave to see you, sir," she whispered a little
breathlessly.

"Will you please say that I can't possibly see any one?" Eric answered
curtly. "Tell her that two gentlemen have come to see me on business.
Ask her to leave a message."

He turned to find Manders smiling, as though to say, "Why didn't you
tell us? _We_ should have understood. We're men of the world."

"The _first_ act," Eric repeated