ndra_. Tell me of your brother. I liked what you wrote of him.
He is our direct opposite, isn't he? Does he talk as well as you
reported, or were you polishing him a little?"

"No, Walt has a remarkable taste in words. He has always been the
literary member of our family, but is too lazy to write. He is content
to grow fat in his little round of daily duties."

"I wonder if we haven't lost something by becoming enslaved to the
great city! Our pleasures are more intense, but they _do_ wear us out.
Think of you and me to-morrow night--our anxiety fairly cancelling our
pleasure--and then think of your brother going leisurely home to his
wife, his babies, and his books. I don't know--sometimes when I think of
growing old in a flat or a hotel I am appalled. I hate to keep mother
here. Sometimes I think of giving it all up for a year or two and going
back to the country, just to see how it would affect me. I don't want to
get artificial and slangy with no interests but the stage, like so many
good actresses I know. It's such a horribly egotistic business--"

"There are others," he said.

"Writers are bad enough, but actors and opera-singers are infinitely
worse. Mother has helped me." She put her soft palm on her mother's
wrinkled hand. "Nothing can spoil mother; nothing can take away the home
atmosphere--not even the hotel. Well, now I must go to our final
rehearsal. I will not see you again till the close of the second act.
You must be in your place to-night," she said, with tender warning. "I
want to see your face whenever I look for it."

"I am done with running away," he answered, as he slowly released her
hand. "I shall pray for your success--not my own."

"Fortunately my success is yours."

"In the deepest sense that is true," he answered.

XX

As Douglass entered the theatre that night Westervelt met him with
beaming smile. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Douglass." He
nodded and winked. "You are all right now, my boy. You have them coming.
I was all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't she tell you?"

"You mean about the advance sale?--no."

Westervelt grew cautious. "Oh--well, then, I will be quiet. She wants to
tell you. She will do so."

"Advance sale must be good," thought the playwright, as he walked on
into the auditorium. The ushers smiled, and the old gatekeeper greeted
him shortly.

"Ye've won out, Mr. Douglass."

"Can it be that this play is to mark the returning tid