ano; Henry touched the cool smoothness of
a cream-jug, and tried to crystallize his thought into coherence.

The applause had died away; the house was quiet, expectant. From the
rear, a man's voice said: "It isn't like a golf championship trophy,
old man--you don't have to win it three times--it's all yours."

In the shriek of laughter which followed, Henry, with Anna in tow,
fled to shelter. "Lights!" said Henry. Abruptly, the auditorium was
dim. And with Anna holding tight to his fingers, he sat down in the
furthest corner, and trembled.

For the next two hours, Standish, who was on one of his periodical
fits of comedy, stuck to his piano, and dominated the evening. He
played grotesquely inappropriate melodies, he commanded singing, once
he stopped the show and with the assistance of a dozen recruits put on
the burlesque of an amateur night at a music-hall. He made the
occasion a historical event, and when at last it was over, and the
guests were filing out to the lobby, he came to Henry and held out his
hand.

"Big-time, Henry, big-time," he said. "See? They're all with you."

Henry cleared his throat. "You're a peach, Bob. You got it up."

"Oh, it wasn't anything." Standish's cloak of comedy had fallen away;
he looked as lazy, and as innocent and childlike as ever. "Before I
go--I had a letter today from one of the big movie circuit crowd.
They'll pay you thirty-seven thousand five hundred cash for the
Orpheum. I've got a certified check for a thousand to bind the
bargain. Want it?"

Henry didn't even glance at it. "Put it back in your pocket, Bob. I
wouldn't sell it for ten times that--not after tonight."

His friend smiled very faintly. "It's a good price, if you care to get
out from under. Between you and me, I think it's more than the
Orpheum's worth."

"Don't want it," said Henry gruffly.

Standish gazed with vast innocence at Anna. "Third and last chance,
Henry. Otherwise, I'll mail it back tonight. Just a few hours from now
this place, right where we're standing, 'll look like a sardine-can
come to life, and you'll be taking in money hand over fist, and you'll
be branded forever as--"

"Oh, shut up," said Henry, affectionately.

* * * * *

Through the jostling, good-natured crowd which blocked the sidewalk in
front of the Orpheum Theatre, that Sunday at two o'clock, a policeman
in uniform pushed his way to the ticket-booth. "Where's the manager?"

Th