on of the rags, which I still wore, and the--"
But he never finished.

Patsy had sprung to her feet and was looking at him, bewilderment,
accusation, almost fright, showing through her tears. "Your
clothes--your clothes! You wore a--Then you are--"

"Hush!" said the tinker. He turned to the others. "I think that is
all, gentlemen. I searched the rags after I had finished my score
with the thief and found the stones. I brought them over this
afternoon to return to their rightful owner. I might have returned
them that day after the play--but I forgot until the sheriff had
gone. You are entirely welcome. Good afternoon!" He dismissed them
promptly, but courteously, as if the stage had been his own
drawing-room and the two had suddenly expressed a desire to take
their leave.

At the wings he left them and came back direct to George Travis.
"There is more thieving to be done this afternoon, and I am going to
do it. I am going to steal your future star, right from under your
nose; and I shall never return her."

"What do you mean?" Travis stared at him blankly.

"Just what I say; Miss O'Connell and I are to be married this
afternoon in Arden."

"That's simply out of the--"

Patsy, who had found her tongue at last, laid a coaxing hand on
Travis's arm. "No, it isn't. I wired Miriam yesterday--to see if she
was really as sick as you thought. She was sick; but she's ever so
much better and her nerves are not going to be nearly as troublesome
as she feared. She's quite willing to come back and take her old
place, and she'll be well enough next week." Patsy's voice had become
vibrant with feeling. "Now don't ye be hard-hearted and think I'm
ungrateful. We've all been playing in a bigger comedy than Willie
Shakespeare ever wrote; and, sure, we've got to be playing it out to
the end as it was meant to be."

"And you mean to give up your career, your big chance of success?"
Travis still looked incredulous. "Don't you realize you'll be
famous--famous and rich!" he emphasized the last word unduly.

It set Patsy's eyes to blazing. "Aye, I'd no longer be like Granny
Donoghue's lean pig, hungry for scrapings. Well, I'd rather be hungry
for scrapings than starving for love. I knew one woman who threw away
love to be famous and rich, and I watched her die. Thank God she's
kept my feet from that road! Sure, I wouldn't be rich--" She choked
suddenly and looked helplessly at the tinker.

"Neither would I." And he spoke with a sole