art.

He came to lunch full of enthusiasm. "Say, sis, that play is a corker.
There is a part in it that sees the _Baroness_ and goes her one better.
If the last act keeps up we've got a prize-winner. Who's Edwin Baxter,
anyhow?"

Helen quietly stirred her tea. "I never heard the name before. A new man
in the theatrical world, apparently."

"Well, he's all right. I'm going over the whole thing again. Have you
read it?"

"No, I thought best to let you and Westervelt decide this time. I merely
glanced at it."

"Well, it looks like the thing to pull us out of our hole."

That night Westervelt came behind the scenes with shining face. "I hope
you will consent to do this new piece; it is a cracker-jack." He grew
cautious. "It really is an immensely better piece of work than _The
Baroness_, and yet it has elements of popularity. I have read it
hastily. I shall study it to-night. If it looks as big to me to-morrow
morning as now I will return to the old arrangement with you--if you
wish."

"How is the house to-night?" she asked.

His face dropped. "No better than last night." He shrugged his
shoulders. "Oh, ten or fifteen dollars, maybe. We can play all winter to
two hundred dollars a night with this play. I do not understand such
audiences. Apparently each man sends just one to take his place. There
is no increase."

"Well, report to me to-morrow about _Alessandra_, then I will decide
upon the whole matter."

In spite of herself she shared in the glow which shone on the faces of
her supports, for the word had been passed to the leading members that
they were going back to the old drama. "They've found a new play--a
corking melodrama."

Royleston straightened. "What's the subject?"

"Middle-age Italian intrigue, so Hugh says--bully costumes--a wonder of
a part for Merival."

"Then we are on velvet again," said Royleston.

The influence of the news ran through the action on the stage. The
performance took on spirit and gusto. The audience immediately felt the
glow of the players' enthusiasm, and warmed to both actress and
playwright, and the curtain went down to the most vigorous applause of
the entire run. But Westervelt did not perceive this, so engrossed was
he in the new manuscript. Reading was prodigious labor for him--required
all his attention.

He was at the hotel early the next morning, impatient to see his star.
As he waited he figured on a little pad. His face was flushed as if with
drink. His ey