eyes on you. You ain't
graftin' for a paper, are you?"

"I never met but one editor in my life," she replied evasively, "and I,
he--well, we didn't get on very well together."

"Hittin' 'm for a job?"

Edna nodded carelessly, though inwardly anxious and cudgelling her
brains for something to turn the conversation.

"What'd he say?"

"That eighteen other girls had already been there that week."

"Gave you the icy mit, eh?" The moon-faced young man laughed and slapped
his thighs. "You see, we're kind of suspicious. The Sunday papers 'd
like to get Amateur Night done up brown in a nice little package, and
the manager don't see it that way. Gets wild-eyed at the thought of it."

"And what's your turn?" she asked.

"Who? me? Oh, I'm doin' the tramp act tonight. I'm Charley Welsh, you
know."

She felt that by the mention of his name he intended to convey to her
complete enlightenment, but the best she could do was to say politely,
"Oh, is that so?"

She wanted to laugh at the hurt disappointment which came into his face,
but concealed her amusement.

"Come, now," he said brusquely, "you can't stand there and tell me
you've never heard of Charley Welsh? Well, you must be young. Why, I'm
an Only, the Only amateur at that. Sure, you must have seen me. I'm
everywhere. I could be a professional, but I get more dough out of it by
doin' the amateur."

"But what's an 'Only'?" she queried. "I want to learn."

"Sure," Charley Welsh said gallantly. "I'll put you wise. An 'Only' is
a nonpareil, the feller that does one kind of a turn better'n any other
feller. He's the Only, see?"

And Edna saw.

"To get a line on the biz," he continued, "throw yer lamps on me. I'm
the Only all-round amateur. To-night I make a bluff at the tramp act.
It's harder to bluff it than to really do it, but then it's acting, it's
amateur, it's art. See? I do everything, from Sheeny monologue to team
song and dance and Dutch comedian. Sure, I'm Charley Welsh, the Only
Charley Welsh."

And in this fashion, while the thin, dark man and the large, blond woman
warbled dulcetly out on the stage and the other professionals followed
in their turns, did Charley Welsh put Edna wise, giving her much
miscellaneous and superfluous information and much that she stored away
for the Sunday Intelligencer.

"Well, tra la loo," he said suddenly. "There's his highness chasin'
you up. Yer first on the bill. Never mind the row when you go on. Just
finish yer