you
needn't think I'm going to leave you all soul alone in a strange place
when you are feeling rotten anyway. I'm pretty doggoned selfish but not
quite that bad."

CHAPTER XXV

ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE

Although Max Hempel had not openly sought out Tony Holiday he was
entirely aware of her presence in the city and in the dramatic school.
Whenever she played a role in the course of the latter's program he had
his trusted aides on the spot to watch her, gauge her progress, report
their finding to himself. Once or twice he had come himself, sat in a
dark corner and kept his eye unblinking from first to last upon the girl.

In November it had seemed good to the school to revive The Killarney
Rose, a play which ten years ago had had a phenomenal run and ended as it
began with packed houses. It was past history now. Even the road
companies had lapsed, and its name was all but forgotten by the fickle
public which must and will have ever new sensations.

Hempel was glad the school had made this particular selection, doubly
glad it had given Antoinette Holiday the title role. The play would show
whether the girl was ready for his purposes as he had about decided she
was. He would send Carol Clay to see her do the thing. Carol would know.
Who better? It was she who created the original Rose.

Tony Holiday behind the scene on that momentous evening, on being
informed that Carol Clay--the famous Carol Clay herself--the real
Rose--was out there in a box, was paralyzed with fear, for the first
time in her life, victim of genuine stage fright. She was cold. She was
hot. She was one tremendous shake and shiver. She was a very lump of
stone. The orchestra was already playing. In a moment her call would
come and she was going to fail, fail miserably. And with Carol Clay
there to see.

Some flowers and a card were brought in. The flowers were from Alan of
course, great crimson roses. It was dear of him to send them. Later she
would appreciate it. But just now not even Alan mattered. She glanced at
the card which had come separately, was not with the flowers. It was
Dick's. Hastily she read the pencil-written scrawl. "Am covering the
Rose. Will be close up. See you after the show. Best o' luck and love."

Tony could almost have cried for joy over the message. Somehow the
knowledge of Dick's nearness gave her back her self-possession. She had
refused to let Alan come. His presence in the audience always distracted
her, mad