d up his shirt-sleeves, and went
earnestly to work.

It was a small, cheaply built theatre, having restricted stage space,
while a perfect riff-raff of trunks and detached pieces of canvas
scenery littered the wings. At first sight it appeared a confused
medley of odds and ends, utterly impossible to bring into any
conformity to order, but Albrecht recognized each separate piece of
luggage, every detached section of canvas, recalling exactly where it
properly belonged during the coming performance. For more than an hour
he pranced about the dirty stage, shouting minute directions, and
giving due emphasis to them by growling German oaths; while Winston,
aided by two local assistants, bore trunks into the various
dressing-rooms, hung drop curtains in designated positions, placed set
pieces conveniently at hand, and arranged the various required
properties where they could not possibly be overlooked during the rush
of the evening's performance. Thus, little by little, order was
evolved from chaos, and the astute manager chuckled happily to himself
in quick appreciation of the unusual rapidity with which the newly
engaged utility man grasped the situation and mastered the confusing
details. Assuredly he had discovered a veritable jewel in this fresh
recruit. At last, the affairs of principal importance having been
attended to, Albrecht left some final instructions, and departed for
the hotel, feeling serenely confident that this young man would carry
out his orders to the letter.

And Winston did. He was of that determined nature which performs
thoroughly any work once deliberately undertaken; and, although the
merest idle whim had originally brought him to this position of utility
man in the "Heart of the World" company, he was already beginning to
experience a slight degree of interest in the success of the coming
show, and to feel a faint _esprit de corps_, which commanded his best
efforts. Indeed, his temporary devotion to the preparation of the
stage proved sufficiently strong to obscure partially for the time
being all recollection of that first incentive which had suggested his
taking such a step--the young lady discovered asleep in Number
Twenty-seven. The remembrance of her scarcely recurred to him all
through the afternoon, yet it finally returned in overwhelming rush
when, in the course of his arduous labors, he raised up a small leather
trunk and discovered her name painted plainly upon the end of it.