I never
had any luck until she came under my management, and I don't expect to
have any after she retires. I made her, all right, but she made me, too;
and it sprains my sense of good business to break up a paying
combination like that."

"Nonsense," Whitaker contended warmly. "If I'm not mistaken, you were
telling me this afternoon that you stand next to Belasco as a producing
manager. The loss of one star isn't going to rob you of that prestige,
is it?"

"You never can tell," the little man contended darkly; "I wouldn't bet
thirty cents my next production would turn out a hit."

"What will it cost--your next production?"

"The show I have in mind--" Max considered a moment then announced
positively: "between eighteen and twenty thousand."

"I call that big gambling."

"Gambling? Oh, that's just part of the game. I meant a side bet. If the
production flivvers, I'll need that thirty cents for coffee and sinkers
at Dennett's. So I won't bet.... But," he volunteered brightly, "I'll
sell you a half interest in the show for twelve thousand."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"I mean it," Max insisted seriously; "though I'll admit I'm not crazy
about your accepting--yet. I've had several close calls with Sara--she's
threatened to chuck the stage often before this; but every time
something happened to make her change her mind. I've got a hunch maybe
something will happen this time, too. If it does, I won't want any
partners."

Whitaker laughed quietly and turned the conversation, accepting the
manager's pseudo-confidences at their face value--that is, as pure
bluff, quite consistent with the managerial pose.

They rose presently and made their way out into the crowded, blatant
night of Broadway.

"We'll walk, if you don't mind," Max suggested. "It isn't far, and I'd
like to get a line on the house as it goes in." He sighed affectedly.
"Heaven knows when I'll see another swell audience mobbing one of my
attractions!"

His companion raised no objection. This phase of the life of New York
exerted an attraction for his imagination of unfailing potency. He was
more willing to view it afoot than from the windows of a cab.

They pushed forward slowly through the eddying tides, elbowed by a
matchless motley of humanity, deafened by its thousand tongues, dazzled
to blindness by walls of living light. Whitaker experienced a sensation
of participating in a royal progress: Max was plainly a man of mark; he
left a wake