ague's belief that his race
was really chosen was restored. He sold the Windsor Theater to Roland
for twenty-five thousand pounds. It was fifteen thousand pounds more
than he himself had given for it, and this very satisfactory profit
mitigated the slight regret which he felt when it came to transferring
to Roland the insurance policies. To have effected policies amounting
to rather more than seventy thousand pounds on a building so notoriously
valueless as the Windsor Theater had been an achievement of which Mr.
Montague was justly proud, and it seemed sad to him that so much earnest
endeavor should be thrown away.

* * * * *

Over the little lunch with which she kindly allowed Roland to entertain
her, to celebrate the purchase of the theater, Miss Verepoint outlined
her policy.

"What we must put up at that theater," she announced, "is a revue.
A revue," repeated Miss Verepoint, making, as she spoke, little
calculations on the back of the menu, "we could run for about fifteen
hundred a week--or, say, two thousand."

Saying two thousand, thought Roland to himself, is not quite the same as
paying two thousand, so why should she stint herself?

"I know two boys who could write us a topping revue," said Miss
Verepoint. "They'd spread themselves, too, if it was for me. They're in
love with me--both of them. We'd better get in touch with them at once."

To Roland, there seemed to be something just the least bit sinister
about the sound of that word "touch," but he said nothing.

"Why, there they are--lunching over there!" cried Miss Verepoint,
pointing to a neighboring table. "Now, isn't that lucky?"

To Roland the luck was not quite so apparent, but he made no demur to
Miss Verepoint's suggestion that they should be brought over to their
table.

The two boys, as to whose capabilities to write a topping revue Miss
Verepoint had formed so optimistic an estimate, proved to be well-grown
lads of about forty-five and forty, respectively. Of the two, Roland
thought that perhaps R. P. de Parys was a shade the more obnoxious,
but a closer inspection left him with the feeling that these fine
distinctions were a little unfair with men of such equal talents.
Bromham Rhodes ran his friend so close that it was practically a dead
heat. They were both fat and somewhat bulgy-eyed. This was due to the
fact that what revue-writing exacts from its exponents is the constant
assimilation of food and dr