.. yes," he murmured vaguely. "Yes!"

"Well, there are thirteen here. Count 'em for yourself." He whipped
round on Jill. "What's _your_ name? Who engaged you?"

A croaking sound from the neighbourhood of the ceiling indicated the
clearing of Mr. Pilkington's throat.

"I--er--_I_ engaged Miss Mariner, Mr. Goble."

"Oh, _you_ engaged her?"

He stared again at Jill. The inspection was long and lingering, and
affected Jill with a sense of being inadequately clothed. She returned
the gaze as defiantly as she could, but her heart was beating fast.
She had never yet been frightened of any man, but there was something
reptilian about this fat, yellow-haired individual which disquieted
her, much as cockroaches had done in her childhood. A momentary
thought flashed through her mind that it would be horrible to be
touched by him. He looked soft and glutinous.

"All right," said Mr. Goble at last, after what seemed to Jill many
minutes. He nodded to Mr. Saltzburg. "Get on with it! And try working
a little this time! I don't hire you to give musical entertainments."

"Yes, Mr. Goble, yes. I mean no, Mr. Goble!"

"You can have the Gotham stage this afternoon," said Mr. Goble. "Call
the rehearsal for two sharp."

Outside the door, he turned to Mr. Pilkington.

"That was a fool trick of yours, hiring that girl. Thirteen! I'd as
soon walk under a ladder on a Friday as open in New York with a chorus
of thirteen. Well, it don't matter. We can sack one of 'em after we've
opened on the road." He mused for a moment. "Darned pretty girl,
that!" he went on meditatively. "Where did you get her?"

"She--ah--came into the office, when you were out. She struck me as
being essentially the type we required for our ensemble, so
I--er--engaged her. She--" Mr. Pilkington gulped. "She is a charming,
refined girl!"

"She's darned pretty," admitted Mr. Goble, and went on his way wrapped
in thought, Mr. Pilkington following timorously. It was episodes like
the one that had just concluded which made Otis Pilkington wish that
he possessed a little more assertion. He regretted wistfully that he
was not one of those men who can put their hat on the side of their
heads and shoot out their chins and say to the world "Well, what about
it!" He was bearing the financial burden of this production. If it
should be a failure, his would be the loss. Yet somehow this coarse,
rough person in front of him never seemed to allow him a word in the
executive po