Antony behind him. "My old friends Amos and Parsons insisted on giving me a drink."
He slipped his hand into the crook of Bill's arm, and smiled happily at him.
"Why were you so keen about them?" asked Bill a little resentfully. "I couldn't think where on earth you had got to."
Antony didn't say anything. He was staring at the poster.
"When did this happen?" he asked.
"What?"
Antony waved to the poster.
"Oh, that? Last Christmas. It was rather fun."
Antony began to laugh to himself.
"Were you good?"
"Rotten. I don't profess to be an actor."
"Mark good?"
"Oh, rather. He loves it."
"Rev. Henry Stutters—Mr. Matthew Cay," read Antony.
"Was that our friend Cayley?"
"Yes."
"Any good?"
"Well, much better than I expected. He wasn't keen, but Mark made him."
"Miss Norris wasn't playing, I see."
"My dear Tony, she's a professional. Of course she wasn't."
Antony laughed again.
"A great success, was it?"
