t luxury compared with one-night stands and
a salary that doesn't get paid. You're a might good fellow, Mr.
Banborough," continued the young actor, "and Violet and I and the rest
of the company will do our best to make your book a howling success."
And as he spoke he laid his hand familiarly on the little actress's
shoulder, an action which did not altogether please Cecil, and made him
realise that in the attractive young comedian he had found a strong
rival for Miss Arminster's favour.

"Well, then, we'll consider it settled," he said; whereat the company
arose and clasped his hands silently. Their satisfaction was too deep
for words. Spotts was the first to rouse himself to action.

"Come," he said, "we mustn't lose any time. Your interests are ours now,
Mr. Banborough, and the sooner we get to work the more thoroughly we'll
earn our salary," and touching a bell, he said to the answering
messenger:

"Bring me a New York directory," thereby showing an honest activity
which was much appreciated by his employer.

An hour later, the company, fully primed, departed joyfully on their
mission.

Banborough, rich in the comforting sense of a good morning's work well
accomplished, retired to his club to dream of the success of his book.
In spirit he visited the book-stalls, noting the growing concern of the
clerks as they were obliged to turn away customer after customer who
clamoured for "The Purple Kangaroo." He saw the hurried consultations
with the heads of firms, who at length realised their blind stupidity
in neglecting to stock their shelves with the success of the season. He
saw the dozens of orders which poured into the publishing house, and
heard in fancy that sweetest of all announcements that can fall upon an
author's ears: "My dear sir, we have just achieved another edition."

So dreaming, he was rudely awakened by a slap on the shoulder, and the
cheerful voice of Marchmont, saying:

"Who's asleep this time?"

"Not I," replied his friend, "only dreaming."

"Of the success of 'The Purple Kangaroo'?" asked the journalist. "Well,
you'll have it, old man--see if you don't--and live to bless the name of
Marchmont and the _Daily Leader_. Why, thousands will be reading your
book before the week's out."

"What do you mean?" gasped the Englishman. "Surely you don't know--?"
For he feared the discovery of his little plot.

"Know!" replied the journalist. "I know that your book has leaped at one
bound from ficti