earned the often indiscriminately applied title of "crazy
Frenchman." A Frenchman is never so much one as when confronted in
a foreign land with a great French creation; every fibre in his
body answers each charm with an appreciation worked to fever-heat by
patriotic love; at such times the play of his emotions precludes any
idea of reason to an onlooker. Bernhardt was one of Levice's passions.
Booth was another, though he took him more composedly. The first time
the latter appeared at the Baldwin (his opening play was "Hamlet") the
Levices--that is, Ruth and her father--went three times in succession to
witness his matchless performance, and every succeeding characterization
but strengthened their enthusiasm.

Booth was coming again. The announcement had been rapturously hailed by
the Levices.

"It will be impossible for us to go together, Father," Ruth remarked at
the breakfast-table. "Louis will have to take me on alternate nights,
while you stay at home with Mamma; did you hear, Louis?"

"You will hardly need to do that," answered Arnold, lowering his cup;
"if you and your father prefer going together, I shall enjoy staying
with your mother on those nights."

"Thanks for the offer--and your evident delight in my company," laughed
Ruth; "but there is one play at which you must submit to the infliction
of my presence. Don't you remember we always wished to see the 'Merchant
of Venice' and judge for ourselves his interpretation of the character?
Well, I am determined that we shall see it together."

"When does he play it?"

"A week from Saturday night."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I shall be out of town at the end of next
week."

"Oh, dear? Honestly? Can't you put it off? I want so much to go."

"Impossible. Go with your father."

"You know very well neither of us would go off and leave Mamma alone at
night. It is horrid of you to go. I am sure you could manage differently
if--"

"Why, my child!"

She was actually pouting; and her father's quiet tone of surprised
reprimand just headed off two great tears that threatened to fall.

"I know," she said, trying to smile, and showing an April face instead;
"but I had just set my heart on going, and with Louis too."

"That comes of being a spoilt only child," put in Arnold, suavely.
"You ought to know by this time that of the many plans we make with
ourselves, nine out of ten come to nought. Before you set your heart on
a thing, be sure you will not have