They were not going to stay and see the next picture run, and that, in Luck's opinion, was a bad-weather sign.

But he came up to them cheerfully, turning his hat in his fingers to find the front of it before he set it on his head.

(These limp, wool, knockabout hats are always more or less confusing, and Luck was fastidious about his apparel.) "Ah--Mr.Brown, this is Mr.Lindsay, ah--director who is producing your stories." Martinson's tone was as neutral as he could make it.
Luck said that he was glad to meet Mr.Brown, which was a lie.

At the same instant he found the stitched-down bow on his hat, and from there felt his way to the front.

At the same time he decided that there was going to be something doing presently, if Mart's manner meant anything at all.