despaired these many years. There
it hung, a dream come true, and it read, "A Woman's Thrall, By Henry
Phillips."

The stage-door man greeted him with a toothless smile and handed him a
bundle of telegrams, mumbling: "I knew it would go over, Mr. Phillips.
The notices are swell, ain't they?"

"They seem to be."

"I ain't seen their equal since 'The Music Master' opened. We'll run a
year."

This differed from the feverish, half-hysterical praise of the
evening before. Phillips had made allowances then for the spell of a
first-night enthusiasm and had prepared himself for a rude awakening
this morning--he had seen too many plays fail, to put much faith
in the fulsomeness of first-nighters--but the words of the doorman
carried conviction. He had felt confident up to the last moment, to be
sure, for he knew he had put his life's best work into this drama, and
he believed he had written with a master's cunning; nevertheless, when
his message had gone forth a sudden panic had seized him. He had begun
to fear that his judgment was distorted by his nearness to the play,
or that his absorption in it had blinded him to its defects. It was
evident now, however, that these fears had been ill-founded, for no
play could receive such laudatory reviews as these and fail to set
New-Yorkers aflame.

Certain printed sentences kept dancing through his memory: "Unknown
dramatist of tremendous power," "A love story so pitiless, so true,
that it electrifies," "The deep cry of a suffering heart," "Norma
Berwynd enters the galaxy of stars."

That last sentence was the most significant, the most wonderful of
all. Norma Berwynd a star! Phillips could scarcely credit it; he
wondered if she had the faintest notion of how or why her triumph had
been effected.

The property man met him, and he too was smiling.

"I just came from the office," he began. "Say! they're raving. It's
the biggest hit in ten years."

"Oh, come now! It's too early for the afternoon papers--"

"The papers be blowed! It's the public that makes a play; the whole
town knows about this one already. It's in and over, I tell you;
we'll sell out tonight. Believe me, this is a knock-out--a regular
bull's-eye. It won't take no government bonds to bridge us over the
next two weeks."

"Did you get the new props?"

"Sure! The electrician is working on the drop light for the first act;
we'll have a better glass crash tonight, and I've got a brand-new
dagger. That other k