," declared Clayton, quickly. "You know me and you
know my checks are good. Quick--send some one out to make an
announcement to the audience that there _will_ be a performance."

As the stage manager hurriedly started toward the curtain, Lawrence,
who had overheard this dialogue, strutted toward Clayton.

"All very good," he cried pompously. "But what about my salary?"

"How much do you get?" inquired Clayton.

Lawrence came close to him. "Four hundred a week," he whispered.

Clayton turned to Weldon. "How much does this man get, Weldon?" he
inquired.

"Seventy a week," Weldon answered quickly.

Lawrence fairly fumed with rage, while the members of the company
tittered.

"The terms of my contract are sacred and confidential," he protested. "I
accepted the reduced salary only because it is late in the season. You
had no right to expose the secrets of our contract."

Clayton laughed. "I'll give you a hundred if you go on and give a good
performance," he volunteered. "Weldon, make out the salary list of this
company, and I'll give you a check covering two weeks' salaries for each
member of the organization. Figure up how much the theater costs, and
whatever Gordon hasn't paid, I will. Now, everybody get ready for the
first act, and ring up the curtain."

Martha, alone in her dressing-room, had heard Clayton giving his
peremptory commands. Half dazed yet at the sudden apparent collapse of
the play, she scarcely realized that defeat was even now being turned
into victory. But the command to get ready for the act awoke her from
her lethargy.

"Mr. Clayton," she cried, coming to him, "how can you do all this?"

"I'm not as rich as Gordon," he replied, looking at her a bit
reproachfully. "Not by a long shot, but I guess you can star for a night
anyway, Martha, even with a one-horse angel."

"You are not doing all this for me? Why, it would be better to let the
whole thing be a total failure than to take such a risk."

"I am doing it because it pleases me," explained Clayton. "And because I
want you to have every chance for success that they tried to rob you
of."

"Just wish me luck?" asked Martha, softly, holding out her hand.

"I wish you everything you wish yourself," he replied.

"The curtain is up, Miss Farnum," cried Lizzie, entering for a moment
from the stage. "It is nearly time for your entrance."

"Wish me success," pleaded Martha, again.

"Is that all you wish for?" asked Clayton, going with her