Let’s have an advance round of applause for our concertmaster, 249 Lucy Albert!” Lucy was horrified. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. They chatted pleasantly as he drove around the neighborhood for a half an hour, then stopped by the Diedermayer house. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent.
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