he wished to tear my hair. He really resembled the elder
Salvini as Othello--you know the scene I mean. I gave him a check to
compensate him. He tore it up and blew it into the air with a curse. Oh,
it was beautiful comedy. I told him our interview would make a hit as a
'turn' on the vaudeville stage. Nothing could calm him. I was firm, and
_Alessandra_ was in ashes."

They moved on out upon the walk and into the hideous clamor of
Forty-second Street, his mind still busy with the significance of her
news. Henry Olquest in an auto sat waiting for them. After a quick
hand-shake Douglass lifted Helen to her place, followed her with a leap,
and they were off on a ride which represented to him more than an
association with success--it seemed a triumphal progress. Something in
Helen's eyes exalted him, filled his throat with an emotion nigh to
tears. His eyes were indeed smarting as she turned to say: "You are just
in time for dress rehearsal. Do you want to see it?"

"No, I leave it all to you. I want to be the author if I can. I want to
get the thrill."

"I think you will like our production. Mr. Olquest has done marvels with
it. You'll enjoy it; I know you will. It will restore your lost youth to
you."

"I hope it will restore some of your lost dollars. I saw by the papers
that you were still struggling with _Enid_. I shudder to think what that
means. The other poor little play will never be able to lift that huge
debt."

"I'm not so sure about that," she gayly answered. "The rehearsals have
almost resigned"--she pointed at Hugh's back--"him to the change."

"I confess I was surprised by his cordial greeting."

"Oh, he's quite shifted his point of view. He thinks _The Morning_ may
'catch 'em' on other grounds."

"And you--you are radiant. I expected to find you worn out. You dazzle
me."

"You mustn't look at me then. Look at the avenue. Isn't it fine this
morning?"

He took her hint. "It is glorious. I feel that I am again at the centre
of things. After all, this is our one great city, the only place where
life is diverse enough to give the dramatist his material. I begin to
understand the attitude of actors when they land from the ferry-boat,
draw a long breath, and say, 'Thank God, I'm in New York again.'"

"It's the only city in America where an artist can be judged by his
peers. I suppose that is one reason why we love it."

"Yes, it's worth conquering, and I'll make my mark upon it yet," and his
tone w