e. "There's nothing in _Lillian_," he said--"not a dollar. We're
throwing our money away. We might better close the theatre. We won't
have fifty dollars in the house to-night. It's all right as a story, but
it won't do for the stage."

Douglass kept his temper. "It was too long; but I can better that in a
few hours. I'll have a much closer-knit action by Wednesday night."

As they were rising from the table Westervelt entered with a face like a
horse, so long and lax was it. "They have burned us alive!" he
exclaimed, as he sank into a chair and mopped his red neck. He shook
like a gelatine pudding, and Helen could not repress a smile.

"Your mistake was in reading them. We burned the critics."

The manager stared in vast amaze. "You didn't read the papers?"

"Not one."

"Well, they say--"

She stopped him. "Don't tell me what they say--not a word. We did our
best and we did good work, and will do better to-night, so don't come
here like a bird of ill-omen, Herr Westervelt. Go kill the critics if
you feel like it, but don't worry us with tales of woe. Our duty is to
the play. We cannot afford to waste nervous energy writhing under
criticism. What is said is said, and repeating it only hurts us all."
Her tone became friendly. "Really, you take it too hard. It is only a
matter of a few thousand dollars at the worst, and to free you from all
further anxiety I will assume the entire risk. I will rent your
theatre."

"No, no!" cried Hugh. "We can't afford to do that."

"We can't afford to do less. I insist," she replied, firmly.

The manager lifted his fat shoulders in a convulsive shrug. His face
indicated despair of her folly. "Good Gott! Well, you are the doctor,
only remember there will not be one hundred people in the house
to-night." He began to recover speech. "Think of that! Helen Merival
playing to empty chairs--in _my_ theatre. Himmel!"

"It is sad, I confess, but not hopeless, Herr Westervelt. We must work
the harder to let the thoughtful people of the city know what we are
trying to do."

"Thoughtful people!" Again his scorn ran beyond his words for a moment
and his tongue grew German. "Doughtful beople. Dey dondt bay dwo tollors
fer seats! _Our_ pusiness iss to attract the rich--the gay
theatre-goers. Who is going to pring a theatre-barty to see a sermon on
the stage--hay?"

"You are unjust to _Lillian's Duty_. It is not a sermon; it is a
powerful acting play--the best part, from a purely acting s