Hackett has friends living in these parts--he went off to see them early yesterday morning, from Northborough, and he's only just come.

So he hasn't seen Oliver, and doesn't know anything about him; he expected, of course, to find him here." Stafford turned with a wave of the hand towards Copplestone.
"So did this gentleman," he said.

"Mr.Copplestone, this is our stage-manager, Mr.Rothwell.Rothwell, this is Mr.Richard Copplestone, author of the new play that Mr.Oliver's going to produce next month.

Mr.
Copplestone got a wire from him yesterday, asking him to come here today at one o'clock, He's travelled all night to get here." "Where was the wire sent from ?" asked Rothwell, a sharp-eyed, keen-looking man, who, like Stafford, was obviously interested in the new author's boyish appearance.

"And when ?" Copplestone drew some letters and papers from his pocket and selected one.