raham. That old paint pirate is giving the
engine all the gas she'll stand--and believe me, he's sure getting up
a lot of speed." Hunt grinned. "That private pre-exhibition show you
suggested is proving the best publicity idea Graham ever had in his
musty old shop. Everywhere I go, people are talking about the darned
thing. Every man, woman and child, also unmarried females of both sexes,
who got invitations are coming--and those who didn't get 'em are trying
to bribe the traffic cop at Forty-Second Street to let 'em in."

Hunt paused for a chuckle. "And I'm having the time of my young life
with the people who always thought I couldn't paint, and who are now
trying to sidle up to me on the suspicion that possibly after all I can
paint. What's got that bunch buffaloed is the fact that Graham has let
it leak out that I'm likely to make bales of money from my painting. The
idea of any one making money out of painting, that's too much for their
heads. Oh, this is the life, Larry!"

Larry started to congratulate him, but was instantly interrupted with:

"I admit I'm a painter, and always will admit it. But this present thing
is all your doing. We'll try to square things sometime. But I didn't ask
you to come along to hear verbostical acrobatics about myself. I asked
you to learn if you'd worked out your plan yet regarding Maggie?"

"Yes." And Larry proceeded to give the details of his design.

"Regular psychological stuff!" exclaimed Hunt. And then: "Say, you're
some stage-manager! Or rather same playwright! Playwrights that know
tell me it's one of their most difficult tricks--to get all their
leading characters on the stage at the same time. And here you've got
it all fixed to bring on Miss Sherwood, Dick, Maggie, yourself, and
the all-important me--for don't forget I shall be slipping out to Cedar
Crest occasionally."

"As for myself," remarked Larry, "I shall remain very much behind the
scenes. Maggie'll never see me."

"Well, here's hoping you're good enough playwright to manage your
characters so they won't run away from you and mix up an ending you
never dreamed of!"

The car paused again in the drive and Larry got out.

"I say, Larry," Hunt whispered eagerly, "who's that tall, white-haired
man working over there among the roses?"

"Joe Ellison. He's that man I told you about my getting to know in Sing
Sing. Remember?"

"Oh, yes! The crook who was having his baby brought up to be a real
person. Say, he's