with the doctor, with his
protecting arm around Tony.

"Holiday!" muttered Hempel. "There was a Holiday once who married one of
the finest actresses of the American stage--carried her off to nurse his
babies. I never forgave that man. He was a brute."

Tony stiffened. Her eyes flashed. She drew away from her uncle and
confronted the stage manager angrily.

"He wasn't a brute, if you mean my father!" she burst out. "My mother was
Laura LaRue."

"I know it," grinned the manager, thoroughly delighted to have struck
fire. The girl was better even than he had thought. She was magnificent,
angry. "That's why I'm here," he added. "I just offered this young person
a part in a practically all-star cast, touring the West. Do you mind?" he
challenged Doctor Holiday.

"I should mind her accepting," said the other man tranquilly. "As it is,
I am duly appreciative of the offer. Thank you."

"What if I told you she had accepted?" the wolf snapped.

Tony saw the swift shadow cloud her uncle's face and hated the manager
for hurting him like that.

"I didn't," she protested indignantly. "You know I wouldn't promise
anything without talking to you, Uncle Phil. I told him I couldn't go."

"But you wanted to," persisted the wolf, bound to get his fangs in
somewhere.

Tony smiled a little wistfully.

"I wanted to most awfully," she confessed, patting her uncle's arm to
take the sting out of her admission. "Will you ask me again some day?"
she appealed to the manager.

He snorted at that.

"You'll come asking me, young lady, and before long, too. Laura LaRue's
daughter isn't going to settle down to being either a butterfly or a
blue-stocking. You are going on the stage and you know it. No use,
Holiday. You won't be able to hold her back. It's in the blood. You may
be able to dam the tide for a time, but not forever."

"I don't intend to dam it," said the doctor gravely. "If, when the time
comes, Tony wishes to go on the stage, I shall not try to prevent her. In
fact I shall help her in every way in my power."

"Uncle Phil!" Tony's voice had a tiny catch in it. She knew her
grandmother would be bitterly opposed to her going on the stage, and had
imagined she would have to win even her uncle over by slow degrees to the
gratifying of this desire of her heart. It had hurt her even to think of
hurting him or going against him in any way--he who was, "father and
mother and a'" to her. Dear Uncle Phil! How he always understood and