lence for a moment He
pulled at his short moustache.

"Why, of course!" he said at length. Jill, who knew him so well, could
tell by the restored ring of cheeriness in his tone that he was
himself again. He had dealt with this situation in his mind and was
prepared to cope with it. The surmise was confirmed the next instant
when he rose and stationed himself in front of the fire. Mr.
Pilkington detested steam-heat and had scoured the city till he had
found a studio apartment with an open fireplace. Uncle Chris spread
his legs and expanded his chest. "Of course," he said. "I remember now
that you told me in your letter that you were thinking of going on the
stage. My niece," explained Uncle Chris to the attentive Mr.
Pilkington, "came over from England on a later boat. I was not
expecting her for some weeks. Hence my surprise at meeting her here.
Of course. You told me that you intended to go on the stage, and I
strongly recommended you to begin at the bottom of the ladder and
learn the ground-work thoroughly before you attempted higher flights."

"Oh, that was it?" said Mr. Pilkington. He had been wondering.

"There is no finer training," resumed Uncle Chris, completely at his
ease once more, "than the chorus. How many of the best-known actresses
in America began in that way! Dozens. Dozens. If I were giving advice
to any young girl with theatrical aspirations, I should say 'Begin in
the chorus!' On the other hand," he proceeded, turning to Mr.
Pilkington, "I think it would be just as well if you would not mention
the fact of my niece being in that position to Mrs. Waddesleigh
Peagrim. She might not understand."

"Exactly," assented Mr. Pilkington.

"The term 'chorus'...."

"I dislike it intensely myself."

"It suggests...."

"Precisely."

Uncle Chris inflated his chest again, well satisfied.

"Capital!" he said. "Well, I only dropped in to remind you, my boy,
that you and your aunt are dining with me to-night. I was afraid a
busy man like you might forget."

"I was looking forward to it," said Mr. Pilkington, charmed at the
description.

"You remember the address? Nine East Forty-first Street. I have moved,
you remember."

"So that was why I couldn't find you at the other place," said Jill.
"The man at the door said he had never heard of you."

"Stupid idiot!" said Uncle Chris testily. "These New York hall-porters
are recruited entirely from homes for the feeble-minded. I suppose he
was a new man. W