Edward Henry glanced up suddenly from the newspaper. He had been
inspired.
"I say, Trent," he remarked, without any warning or preparation,
"you're not looking at all well. I want a change myself. I've a good
mind to take you for a sea-voyage."
"Oh!" grumbled Trent. "I can't afford sea-voyages."
"_I_ can!" said Edward Henry. "And I shouldn't dream of letting it
cost you a penny. I'm not a philanthropist. But I know as well
as anybody that it will pay us theatrical managers to keep you in
health."
"You're not going to take the play off?" Trent demanded suspiciously.
"Certainly not!" said Edward Henry.
"What sort of a sea-voyage?"
"Well--what price the Atlantic? Been to New York?... Neither have I!
Let's go. Just for the trip. It'll do us good."
"You don't mean it?" murmured the greatest dramatic poet, who had
never voyaged further than the Isle of Wight. His eyeglass swung to
and fro.
Edward Henry feigned to resent this remark.
"Of course I mean it. Do you take me for a blooming gas-bag?" He rose.
"Marrier!" Then more loudly: "Marrier!" Mr. Marrier entered. "Do you
know anything about the sailings to New York?"
"Rather!" said Mr. Marrier, beaming. After all, he was a most precious
aid.
"We may be able to arrange for a production in New York," said Edward
Henry to Carlo, mysteriously.
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