n and Wallie that
some day they were going to spread a fine red carpet for her to tread
upon and that all the world would gaze on her with envy. It was in her
mind a symbol typifying all that there was of earthly glory.

"It'll be a long time before they do any red carpeting for you, my
girl," Sid Hahn had said.

She turned on him fiercely. "I will not rest--I will not eat--I will not
sleep--I will not love--until I have it."

Which was, of course, an exaggerated absurdity.

"Oh, what rot!" Wallie Ascher had said, angrily, and then he had thought
of his own symbol of success, and his own resolve. And his face had
hardened. Sid Hahn looked at the two of them; very young, both of them,
very gifted, very electric. Very much in love with each other, though
neither would admit it even in their own minds. Both their stern young
faces set toward the goal which they thought meant happiness.

Now, Sid Hahn had never dabbled in this new stuff--you know--complexes
and fixed ideas and images. But he was a very wise man, and he did know
to what an extent these two were possessed by ambition for that which
they considered desirable.

He must have thought it over for weeks. He was in love with Mizzi,
remember. And his fondness for Wallie was a thing almost paternal. He
watched these two for a long, long time, a queer, grim little smile on
his gargoyle face. And then his mind was made up. He had always had his
own way. He must have had a certain terrible enjoyment in depriving
himself of the one thing he wanted most in the world--the one thing he
wanted more than he had ever wanted anything.

He decided that Destiny--a ponderous, slow-moving creature at
best--needed a little prodding from him. His plans were simple, as all
effective plans are.

Mizzi had been in America just a year and a half. Her development was
amazing, but she was far from being the finished product that she became
in later years. Hahn decided to chance it. Mizzi had no fear of
audiences. He had tried her out on that. An audience stimulated her. She
took it to her breast. She romped with it.

He found a play at last. A comedy, with music. It was frankly built for
Mizzi. He called Wallie Ascher into his office.

"I wouldn't try her out here for a million. New York's too fly. Some
little thing might be wrong--you know how they are. And all the rest
would go for nothing. The kindest audience in the world--when they like
you. And the cruelest when they don't