the stalls away, but the gallery will be
paid for."

Another silence.

Said Rose Euclid, sharply, and Edward Henry caught every word with the
most perfect distinctness:

"I'm sick and tired of people saying they can't make out what I say!
They actually write me letters about it! Why _should_ people make out
what I say?"

She quitted the stage.

Another silence....

"Ring down the curtain," said Mr. Marrier in a thrilled voice.

III

Shortly afterwards Mr. Marrier came into the managerial office, lit
up now, where Edward Henry was dictating to his typewriter and
hospital-nurse, who, having been caught in hat and jacket on the
threshold, had been brought back and was tapping his words direct on
to the machine.

It was a remarkable fact that the sole proprietor of the Regent
Theatre was now in high spirits and good humour.

"Well, Marrier, my boy," he saluted the acting-manager, "how are you
getting on with that rehearsal?"

"Well, sir," said Mr. Marrier, "I'm not getting on with it. Miss
Euclid refuses absolutely to proceed. She's in her dressing-room."

"But why?" inquired Edward Henry with bland surprise. "Doesn't she
_want_ to be heard--by her gallery-boys?"

Mr. Marrier showed an enfeebled smile.

"She hasn't been spoken to like that for thirty years," said he.

"But don't you agree with me?" asked Edward Henry.

"Yes," said Marrier, "I _agree_ with you--"

"And doesn't your friend Carlo want his precious hexameters to be
heard?"

"We baoth agree with you," said Marrier. "The fact is, we've done all
we could, but it's no use. She's splendid, only--" He paused.

"Only you can't make out ten per cent of what she says," Edward Henry
finished for him. "Well, I've got no use for that in my theatre." He
found a singular pleasure in emphasizing the phrase, "my theatre."

"That's all very well," said Marrier. "But what are you going to _do_
about it? I've tried everything. _You've_ come in and burst up the
entire show, if you'll forgive my saying saoh!"

"Do?" exclaimed Edward Henry. "It's perfectly simple. All you have to
do is to act. God bless my soul, aren't you getting fifteen pounds a
week, and aren't you my acting-manager? Act, then! You've done enough
hinting. You've proved that hints are no good. You'd have known that
from your birth up, Marrier, if you'd been born in the Five Towns.
Act, my boy."

"But haow? If she won't go on, she won't."

"Is her understudy in the theatre?"