I have
never heard words less uncertain--that his damned rotten high-brow
false-alarm of a show--I am quoting Mr. Goble--would have to be
rewritten by alien hands. And these are them! On the right, alien
right hand. On the left, alien left hand. Yes, I am the instrument
selected for the murder of Pilkington's artistic aspirations. I'm
going to rewrite the show. In fact, I have already rewritten the first
act and most of the second. Goble foresaw this contingency and told me
to get busy two weeks ago, and I've been working hard ever since. We
shall start rehearsing the new version to-morrow and open in Baltimore
next Monday with practically a different piece. And it's going to be a
pippin, believe _me_, said our hero modestly. A gang of composers has
been working in shifts for two weeks, and, by chucking out nearly all
of the original music, we shall have a good score. It means a lot of
work for you, I'm afraid. All the business of the numbers will have to
be re-arranged."

"I like work," said Jill. "But I'm sorry for Mr. Pilkington."

"He's all right. He owns seventy per cent of the show. He may make a
fortune. He's certain to make a comfortable sum. That is, if he
doesn't sell out his interest in pique--or dudgeon, if you prefer it.
From what he said at the close of the proceedings, I fancy he would
sell out to anybody who asked him. At least, he said that he washed
his hands of the piece. He's going back to New York this
afternoon--won't even wait for the opening. Of course, _I'm_ sorry for
the poor chap in a way, but he had no right, with the excellent
central idea which he got, to turn out such a rotten book. Oh, by the
way!"

"Yes?"

"Another tragedy! Unavoidable, but pathetic. Poor old Freddie! He's
out!"

"Oh, no!"

"Out!" repeated Wally firmly.

"But didn't you think he was good last night?"

"He was awful! But that isn't why. Goble wanted his part rewritten as
a Scotchman, so as to get McAndrew, the fellow who made such a hit
last season in 'Hoots, Mon!' That sort of thing is always happening in
musical comedy. You have to fit parts to suit whatever good people
happen to be available at the moment. My heart bleeds for Freddie, but
what can one do? At any rate he isn't so badly off as a fellow was in
one of my shows. In the second act he was supposed to have escaped
from an asylum, and the management, in a passion for realism, insisted
that he should shave his head. The day after he shaved it, they