ong
Island!"

"It isn't Mrs. Stuyvesant van Dyke any longer, either," said Freddie.
"She's been changed to the wife of a pickle manufacturer."

"A pickle manufacturer!"

"Yes. They said it ought to be a comedy part."

If agony had not caused Mr. Pilkington to clutch for support at the
back of a chair, he would undoubtedly have wrung his hands.

"But it _was_ a comedy part!" he wailed. "It was full of the subtlest,
most delicate satire on Society. They were delighted with it at
Newport! Oh, this is too much! I shall make a strong protest! I shall
insist on these parts being kept as I wrote them! I shall.... I must
be going at once, or I shall miss my train." He paused at the door.
"How was business in Baltimore?"

"Rotten!" said Freddie, and returned to his _National Geographic
Magazine_.

Otis Pilkington tottered into his cab. He was shattered by what he had
heard. They had massacred his beautiful play and, doing so had not
even made a success of it by their own sordid commercial lights.
Business at Baltimore had been rotten! That meant more expense,
further columns of figures with "frames" and "rehl." in front of them!
He staggered into the station.

"Hey!" cried the taxi-driver.

Otis Pilkington turned.

"Sixty-five cents, mister, if _you_ please! Forgetting I'm not your
private shovoor, wasn't you?"

Mr. Pilkington gave him a dollar. Money--money! Life was just one long
round of paying out and paying out.

II

The day which Mr. Pilkington had selected for his visit to the
provinces was a Tuesday. "The Rose of America" had opened at Rochester
on the previous night, after a week at Atlantic City in its original
form and a week at Baltimore in what might be called its second
incarnation. Business had been bad in Atlantic City and no better in
Baltimore, and a meagre first-night house at Rochester had given the
piece a cold reception, which had put the finishing touches to the
depression of the company in spite of the fact that the Rochester
critics, like those of Baltimore, had written kindly of the play. One
of the maxims of the theatre is that "out-of-town notices don't
count," and the company had refused to be cheered by them.

It is to be doubted, however, if even crowded houses would have
aroused much response from the principals and chorus of "The Rose of
America." For two weeks without a break they had been working under
forced draught, and they were weary in body and spirit. The new
princi