eupon he picked her up in his arms and carried her triumphantly off
the stage ... and after a little natural hesitation the curtain came
down.

. . . . .

Behind the scenes all was consternation. Mr. Levinski (absolutely
furious) had a hasty consultation with the author (also furious), in the
course of which they both saw that the Fourth Act as written was now an
impossibility. Poor Prosper, who had almost immediately recovered his
sanity, tremblingly suggested that Mr. Levinski should announce that,
owing to the sudden illness of Mr. Vane, the Fourth Act could not be
given. Mr. Levinski was kind enough to consider this suggestion not
entirely stupid; his own idea having been (very regretfully) to leave
out the two parables and three reminiscences from India and concentrate
on the love-scene with the widow.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Your plan is better. I will say you are ill. It is
true; you are mad. To-morrow we will play it as it was written."

"You can't," said the author gloomily. "The critics won't come till the
Fourth Act, and they'll assume that the Third Act ended as it did
to-night. The Fourth Act will seem all nonsense to them."

"True. And I was so good, so much myself, in that Act." He turned to
Prosper. "You--fool!"

"Or there's another way," began the author. "We might----"

And then a gentleman in the gallery settled it from the front of the
curtain. There was nothing in the programme to show that the play was in
four acts. "The Time is the present day and the Scene is in Sir Geoffrey
Throssell's town-house," was all it said. And the gentleman in the
gallery, thinking it was all over, and being pleased with the play and
particularly with the realism of the last moment of it, shouted
"_Author!_" And suddenly everybody else cried "_Author! Author!_" The
play was ended.

. . . . .

I said that this was the story of a comedy which nearly became a
tragedy. But it turned out to be no tragedy at all. In the three acts to
which Prosper Vane had condemned it the play appealed to both critics
and public; for the Fourth Act (as he recognised so clearly) was
unnecessary, and would have spoilt the balance of it entirely. Best of
all, the shortening of the play demanded that some entertainment should
be provided in front of it, and this enabled Mr. Levinski to introduce
to the public Professor Wollabollacolla and Princess Collabollawolla,
the famous