n, Mr. Vandeford," said Mr. Weiner, rolling his big cigar
from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Without Hawtry?"

"I have a new Hawtry right now--in pickle," Mr. Weiner answered.

"Will the New Carnival certainly be finished October first?"

"Yes, to a certainty of a large guarantee."

"How long will you give me to answer?" asked Mr. Vandeford.

"I have made an appointment with S. & K. to talk that New Carnival
Theater for a show at five o'clock to-day, Mr. Vandeford. I will call it
six o'clock for you," answered Weiner, as he turned the screw with all
show of consideration for his fellow producer.

"I'll be back at four-forty-five," Mr. Vandeford answered him, and with
no further good-by took his departure.

Arriving at his office, Mr. Vandeford directed Mr. Meyers that he was to
have half an hour entirely undisturbed, entered his own office, and
after a second's pause went into the little office that had been
assigned to Miss Adair, the author, and sat down in the chair she very
seldom occupied, but which was hers by tenancy. On the desk were a pair
of silk gloves she had left there the day before, and in a blue vase
were several roses in a good state of preservation, which he recognized
as having come from a bunch Miss Adair had been wearing after having had
luncheon with Mr. Gerald Height on Monday. These objects disturbed Mr.
Vandeford vaguely. He put them out of his mind roughly and went into
conference with himself sternly. Literally he was weighing the
question.

On one side of the balance he laid "The Rosie Posie Girl," which, with
Hawtry, was sure to run on Broadway for at least two seasons and make
for him a fortune that was indefinitely large and sure. Beside this, its
production would insure him a position among the country's really great
producers. The show was big enough in conception to admit of a
spectacularly artistic treatment, which he had intended to give it so
that it would place musical comedy on a plane upon which it had never
stood before. He knew himself well enough to know that a real triumph of
that kind once accomplished, he would want to turn to other fields of
endeavor, and he could see his greater self standing patiently waiting
for his lesser to be liberated by the process of climbing out of the
very top of the theatrical profession.

Sternly he turned from himself to the filling of the other pan of the
scales in which he was weighing the question. He looked for something