great thing and the wonderful thing that years ago Elise had
prophesied. His play, "The Gay Cockade," was accepted by a New York
manager, and after the first night the world went wild about it.

I had helped Jimmie with the name. I had spoken once of youth as a gay
cockade. "That's a corking title," Jimmie had said, and had written it
in his note-book.

When his play was put in rehearsal, Duncan and I were there to see. We
took our month's leave, traveled to New York, and stayed at an
old-fashioned boarding-house in Washington Square. Every day we went to
the theatre. Elise was always there, looking younger than ever in the
sables bought with Jimmie's advance royalty, and with various gowns and
hats which were the by-products of his best-sellers.

The part of the heroine of "The Gay Cockade" was taken by Ursula Simms.
She was, as those of you who have seen her know, a Rosalind come to
life. With an almost boyish frankness she combined feminine witchery.
She had glowing red hair, a voice that was gay and fresh, a temper that
was hot. She galloped through the play as Jimmie had meant that she
should gallop in that first poor draft which he had read to us in
Albemarle, and it was when I saw Ursula in rehearsal that I realized
what Jimmie had done--he had embodied in his heroine all the youth that
he had lost--she stood for everything that Elise had stolen from
him--for the wildness, the impetuosity, the passion which swept away
prudence and went neck to nothing to fulfilment.

Indeed, the whole play partook of the madness of youth. It bubbled over.
Everybody galloped to a rollicking measure. We laughed until we cried.
But there was more than laughter in it. There was the melancholy which
belongs to tender years set in exquisite contrast to the prevailing
mirth.

Jimmie had a great deal to do with the rehearsals. Several times he
challenged Ursula's reading of the part.

"You must not give your kisses with such ease," he told her upon one
occasion; "the girl in the play has never been kissed."

She shrugged her shoulders and ignored him. Again he remonstrated.
"She's frank and free," he said. "Make her that. Make her that. Men must
fight for her favors."

She came to it at last, helped by that Rosalind-like quality in herself.
She was young, as he had wanted Elise to be, clean-hearted,
joyous--girlhood at its best.

Gradually Jimmie ceased to suggest. He would sit beside us in the
dimness of the empty auditorium,