liating hand and said grandly: "Let's be friends,
Flossie. A girl shouldn't have enemies in the company."

"It is hard enough to be compelled to accept an engagement in the same
company with you," replied Flossie, sarcastically, "but thank goodness,
a girl can choose her own friends."

"It's the first part you ever had with real lines, isn't it?"

"No," cried Flossie, indignantly. "I had lines when I was with the
'Follies' on the New York roof."

"Oh, but I mean in a real play," replied Pinkie, superciliously.
"Anyhow, you don't want to get too gay with me. Remember, I got you this
engagement. I asked Martha to give you a real part, because I knew you
needed the money, now you've lost your lawsuit, and Mr. Zinsheimer,
too."

"Zinsheimer!" repeated a stentorian voice behind them, as the proud
possessor of that historic name appeared, gorgeous in the resplendency
of an expansive shirt bosom and a white carnation in his button-hole.
"Now, Pinkie, you know I told you to call me 'Feathers.'"

"Oh, Mr. Zinsheimer," half sobbed Flossie, "you are just in time. Even
though you care nothing more for me, you are too much of a gentleman to
let me be insulted. This _creature_ has--"

"Nothing of the kind, Feathers," interrupted Pinkie. "Flossie's still
sore on me. I say, she'd better forget it. Girls ought to be friends
when they're in the same company."

Zinsheimer raised his hands protestingly. "Aw, girls, cut it out, cut it
out. People these days have to be important to have enemies. Forget it.
There's a great audience out in front and all of them waiting to see the
little star. Ach Gott!" he added, as the green-baize doors were suddenly
thrown open from the stage, and an excitable whirlwind blew in. "Ach
Gott, what is this?"

"This" turned out to be an imposing figure attired in the white huzzar
uniform of a German prince. His bronze wig with the pompadour effect,
his upturned moustache, his glittering decorations and smart uniform,
all indicated that he was a Great Personage. But, alas! from the knees
downward the illusion stopped. "This" didn't wear any boots. In fact, he
was in his stocking feet, and he trod the boards gingerly but none the
less dramatically. "This," in other words, was Arnold Lawrence, leading
man, and he was evidently somewhat _distrait_.

"Miss Farnum," he cried. "Where is Miss Farnum?"

"She's there in her dressing-room," explained Zinsheimer. "But she isn't
coming out until--well, until she'