I meant!"

II

Jill walked out into Forty-second Street, looking about her with the
eye of a conqueror. Very little change had taken place in the aspect
of New York since she had entered the Gotham Theatre, but it seemed a
different city to her. An hour ago, she had been a stranger, drifting
aimlessly along its rapids. Now she belonged to New York, and New
York belonged to her. She had faced it squarely, and forced from it
the means of living. She walked on with a new jauntiness in her
stride.

The address which Nelly had given her was on the east side of Fifth
Avenue. She made her way along Forty-second Street. It seemed the
jolliest, alivest street she had ever encountered. The rattle of the
Elevated as she crossed Sixth Avenue was music, and she loved the
crowds that jostled her with every step she took.

She reached the Fifth Avenue corner just as the policeman out in the
middle of the street swung his Stop-and-Go post round to allow the
up-town traffic to proceed on its way. A stream of cars which had been
dammed up as far as the eye could reach began to flow swiftly past.
They moved in a double line, red limousines, blue limousines, mauve
limousines, green limousines. She stood waiting for the flood to
cease, and, as she did so, there purred past her the biggest and
reddest limousine of all. It was a colossal vehicle with a polar-bear
at the steering-wheel and another at his side. And in the interior,
very much at his ease, his gaze bent courteously upon a massive lady
in a mink coat, sat Uncle Chris.

For a moment he was so near to her that, but for the closed window,
she could have touched him. Then the polar-bear at the wheel, noting a
gap in the traffic, stepped on the accelerator and slipped neatly
through. The car moved swiftly on and disappeared.

Jill drew a deep breath. The Stop-and-Go sign swung round again. She
crossed the avenue, and set out once more to find Nelly Bryant. It
occurred to her, five minutes later, that a really practical and
quick-thinking girl would have noted the number of the limousine.

CHAPTER XI

MR. PILKINGTON'S LOVE LIGHT

I

The rehearsals of a musical comedy--a term which embraces "musical
fantasies"--generally begin in a desultory sort of way at that curious
building, Bryant Hall, on Sixth Avenue just off Forty-second Street.
There, in a dusty, uncarpeted room, simply furnished with a few wooden
chairs and some long wooden benches, the chorus--or, in t