the supper's course, there was a shifting of seats, and he was
landed next to the star.

"I suppose you're bored stiff with talking about the shooting," she
said, at once.

"I am, rather. Wouldn't you be?"

"I? Publicity is the breath of life to us," she laughed. "You deal in
it, so you don't care for it."

"That's rather shrewd in you. I'm not sure that the logic is sound."

"Anyway, I'm not going to bore you with your fame. But I want you to do
something for me."

"It is done," he said solemnly.

"How prettily you pay compliments! There is to be a police
investigation, isn't there?"

"Probably."

"Could you get me in?"

"Yes, indeed!"

"Then I want to come when you're on the stand."

"Great goodness! Why?"

"Why, if you want a reason," she answered mischievously, "say that I
want to bring good luck to your _premiere_, as you brought it to mine."

"I'll probably make a sorry showing. Perhaps you would give me some
training."

She answered in kind, and the acquaintanceship was progressing most
favorably when a messenger of the theater manager's office staff
appeared with early editions of the morning papers. Instantly every
other interest was submerged.

"Give me The Ledger," demanded Betty. "I want to see what Gurney says."

"Something pleasant surely," said Banneker. "He told me that the play
was an assured success."

As she read, Betty's vivacious face sparkled. Presently her expression
changed. She uttered a little cry of disgust and rage.

"What's the matter?" inquired the author.

"Gurney is up to his smartnesses again," she replied. "Listen. Isn't
this enraging!" She read:

"As for the play itself, it is formed, fashioned, and finished in the
cleverest style of tailor-made, to Miss Raleigh's charming personality.
One must hail Mr. Laurence as chief of our sartorial playwrights. No
actress ever boasted a neater fit. Can you not picture him, all nice
little enthusiasms and dainty devices, bustling about his fair
patroness, tape in hand, mouth bristling with pins, smoothing out a
wrinkle here, adjusting a line there, achieving his little _chef
d'oeuvre_ of perfect tailoring? We have had playwrights who were
blacksmiths, playwrights who were costumers, playwrights who were
musical-boxes, playwrights who were, if I may be pardoned, garbage
incinerators. It remained, for Mr. Laurence to show us what can be done
with scissors, needle, and a nice taste in frills.

"I think it's mean and sh