hole production _instantly_, merely paying the
necessary bills. Do you understand?"

"But you wouldn't close the show if it's a hit, would you?" demanded
Weldon.

"I'm not likely to close the show at all," he laughed. "But I have
reasons of my own for reserving that right. Otherwise, however, you are
the manager, owner, producer and director. Do as you please, my dear
Weldon, but remember the terms of our compact."

"I am not likely to forget them," cried Weldon, enthusiastically. "But,"
he added nervously, "can the young lady you wish me to engage really act
the part?"

"I don't know and I don't care," responded Gordon. "The fact remains
that she is going to play the part, and if she doesn't know how to act,
teach her. That's all."

Weldon shook his head sadly.

"I had hoped, after my experience, Mr. Gordon, that I was through with
those bloomers where they try to force an unknown on the public," he
sighed. "But I know you too well to try and argue that a well-known
actress of reputation would help the piece and perhaps make it a hit."

Gordon picked up his silk hat and balanced it with one hand while he
took his cane and gloves from the desk.

"It is immaterial to me, Weldon, whether the piece is a hit or not," he
said carelessly. "Of course, I sincerely hope, for your sake, that it
proves a success. But I won't shed any tears if it isn't. Like the
respected founders of the New Theater, I am not producing this play to
make money. I am simply endeavoring to give a certain young lady a
chance to play a star part in a Broadway theater. If she has the merit
to succeed, so much the better, for her sake and for yours. But
personally I don't give a damn--so long as I pull the strings."

CHAPTER XI

IN THE GREEN-ROOM

Time: Three months later.

"Half hour! Half hour!"

The resonant cry of the call-boy, making the rounds of the
dressing-rooms of the Globe Theater, penetrated to the great empty
green-room, immediately adjoining the star's dressing-room. Downstairs,
from the musicians' room, came the sounds of the scraping of violin bows
across the strings, the occasional toot of the French horn or the
preliminary notes from a flute. Through the green-baize doors leading to
the stage came the sounds of shifting scenery as the stage hands set the
first act of "The Village Maid." A curtain was half drawn across the
entrance to the adjoining star's room, behind which the faithful Lizzie
of the boarding-hou