"Then I shall defer the evil day as long as possible," he answered.
"You seem to forget," she returned, "that I don't know as yet what our business relations are to be."
"And you seem to forget," he replied, "that there are still some strawberries left on that dish."
"I'm afraid they must go till next time--if there's to be a next time."
Banborough vowed to himself that instead of confining the advertisement of his book to the city alone, he would extend it to Harlem and Brooklyn--yes, and to all New York State, if need be, rather than forego the delight of her society.
"Isn't your father an English bishop?" continued Miss Arminster, interrupting his reverie.
"Now how on earth did you know that?" exclaimed Cecil.
"Oh, I know a lot of things," she said. "But I was merely going to suggest that we call you 'Bishop' for short. Banborough's much too long a name for ordinary use. What do you say, boys?" turning to the men of the company.
A chorus of acclamation greeted this sally, and to the members of the A. B. C. Company Cecil Banborough was 'the Bishop' from that hour.
"And now," said the Englishman, "that you've christened me, suppose we come to the business in hand?"
"I am," he continued, "the author of 'The Purple Kangaroo.'"
The silence became deeper. The audience were politely impressed, and the heavy villain did a bit of dumb show with the leading serious, which only needed to have been a trifle better to have proved convincing.
"Yet," continued the author, "owing to the popular interest in an imminent war and a lack of energy on the part of my publishers, the book doesn't sell."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Smith. "Impossible! Why, I was saying only the other day to Henry Irving, 'Hen,' I said--I call him 'Hen' for short,--'that book--'"
"What you say doesn't cut any ice," broke in Spotts. "What were you saying, sir?"
"I was about to remark," continued Banborough, "that what the novel needs is advertising. For an author to make the round of the shops is so old an artifice that any tradesman would see through it."
"It is," interjected the tragedian. "I have more than once demanded the lower right-hand box when I was playing the leading rôle."
"And always got it," added Spotts. The silence was appalling, and Cecil rushed into the breach, saying: