both horror and joy. "I started to call you, but it was all over in a
second."

"That's all right. I've seen that hundreds of times, even when they were
killed." He reassured her about neglecting to share the excitement with
him. "Are you ready to take up the matter of costumes with Corbett?"

"Shall I have to tell him--about my making over--"

"No; just listen to me handle him, and I'll tell you when to break in.
I'll give you a lead. Please come into my office." And with coolness of
manner, but trepidation of heart, he led her into his office and seated
her in a chair beside his at the far side of the desk,--the very chair
in which had sat Mr. Dennis Farraday on the day previous, when he had
received his initiation into the world of theatricals. Then he buzzed
his signal to Mr. Meyers.

Immediately Mr. Corbett entered.

"Morning, Corbett.--Miss Adair, the author of the play I want to talk
to you about.--Want to take on a costume play of early Kentucky?" Mr.
Vandeford made no pause in which to allow Mr. Corbett to acknowledge his
introduction to the author, and Mr. Corbett seemed to bear no resentment
for the omission. His astonishment at meeting an author when the
costuming of a play was being discussed was profound.

"What date?" he inquired, looking carefully away from Miss Adair.

"What date, Miss Adair?" asked Mr. Vandeford in exactly the same crisp
tone in which he was conducting the negotiations with Mr. Corbett.

"1806, I think. It was just before they began to wear--" Miss Adair was
beginning to say with a delighted smile that entirely failed to make an
impression on Mr. Corbett.

"Good date for costuming," the artist interrupted the author to say,
with the easy assurance of a person fully informed. "Styles were
distinctive. I dressed 'Lovers' Ends' for E. and K. in 1789, and the
costumes kept the piffling play alive for two months. How many dolls and
how many boots?"

"How many men and how many ladies in the play, Miss Adair?" Mr.
Vandeford questioned her with delight at getting a question to fling to
her and also translating for her Mr. Corbett's query.

"Twenty in all," answered Miss Adair. "There are eleven ladies with
the--"

"Split even," Mr. Corbett took the words out of her mouth. "Want sole
leather or tissue paper, Mr. Vandeford?" Miss Adair caught by psychic
sympathy the fact that he was asking if the play was to be costumed as
one intended to survive. Consequently her very soul hung on