d the manager. "I'll look
after the flowers."

Drouet smiled at his good-nature.

"After the show you must come with me and we'll have a little supper."

"I think she'll do all right," said Drouet.

"I want to see her. She's got to do all right. We'll make her," and the
manager gave one of his quick, steely half-smiles, which was a compound
of good-nature and shrewdness.

Carrie, meanwhile, attended the first rehearsal. At this performance
Mr. Quincel presided, aided by Mr. Millice, a young man who had some
qualifications of past experience, which were not exactly understood by
any one. He was so experienced and so business-like, however, that he
came very near being rude--failing to remember, as he did, that the
individuals he was trying to instruct were volunteer players and not
salaried underlings.

"Now, Miss Madenda," he said, addressing Carrie, who stood in one part
uncertain as to what move to make, "you don't want to stand like
that. Put expression in your face. Remember, you are troubled over the
intrusion of the stranger. Walk so," and he struck out across the Avery
stage in almost drooping manner.

Carrie did not exactly fancy the suggestion, but the novelty of the
situation, the presence of strangers, all more or less nervous, and the
desire to do anything rather than make a failure, made her timid. She
walked in imitation of her mentor as requested, inwardly feeling that
there was something strangely lacking.

"Now, Mrs. Morgan," said the director to one young married woman who was
to take the part of Pearl, "you sit here. Now, Mr. Bamberger, you stand
here, so. Now, what is it you say?"

"Explain," said Mr. Bamberger feebly. He had the part of Ray, Laura's
lover, the society individual who was to waver in his thoughts of
marrying her, upon finding that she was a waif and a nobody by birth.

"How is that--what does your text say?"

"Explain," repeated Mr. Bamberger, looking intently at his part.

"Yes, but it also says," the director remarked, "that you are to look
shocked. Now, say it again, and see if you can't look shocked."

"Explain!" demanded Mr. Bamberger vigorously.

"No, no, that won't do! Say it this way--EXPLAIN."

"Explain," said Mr. Bamberger, giving a modified imitation.

"That's better. Now go on."

"One night," resumed Mrs. Morgan, whose lines came next, "father and
mother were going to the opera. When they were crossing Broadway, the
usual crowd of children accosted the