e you're making an awful funny
start of things, Theodore."

"My dear girl--"

"What?"

"I just said 'my dear girl.' I----"

"Say it again, Theodore!"

To himself, Mr. Mix said something else, but for Mirabelle's benefit,
he began a third time. "My dear girl, it's simply to evade the law,
and----"

"But Theodore, if we lift one finger to stop the raising of money for
the poor starving children in foreign countries, we'd lose every scrap
of influence we've gained."

"But this means that _all_ the theatres can open again!"

"Well, maybe you'd better get to work and frame the amendment to
Ordinance 147 we've been talking about, then. And the new statute,
too. We've wasted too much time. But under the old one, we can't go
flirting with trouble. And if all they do is show pictures like
Ben-Hur, and The Swordmaker's Son, why ... don't you see? We just
won't notice this thing of Henry's. We can't afford to act too
narrow.... And I'm not cross with you any more. You _were_ all worked
up, weren't you? I'll excuse you. And I could just _hug_ you for being
so worked up in the interests of the League. I didn't understand....
When are you coming up to see me? I've been awfully lonesome--since
yesterday."

Mr. Mix hung up, and sat staring into vacancy. Out of the wild tumult
of his thoughts, there arose one picture, clear and distinct--the
picture of his five thousand dollar note. Whatever else happened, he
couldn't financially afford, now or in the immediate future, to break
with Mirabelle. She would impale him with bankruptcy as ruthlessly as
she would swat a fly; she would pursue him, in outraged pride, until
he slept in his grave. And on the other hand, if certain things _did_
happen--at the Orpheum--how could he spiritually afford to pass the
remainder of his life with a militant reformer who wouldn't even have
money to sweeten her disposition--and Mr. Mix's. He wished that he had
put off until tomorrow what he had done, with such conscious
foresight, only yesterday.

CHAPTER XII

Now although Mr. Mix had shaken with consternation when he saw the
advertisement of the Orpheum, Henry shook with far different
sentiments when he saw the announcement in eulogy of Mr. Mix. It was
clear in his mind, now, that Mr. Mix wasn't the sort of man to marry
on speculation; Henry guessed that Mirabelle had confided to him the
terms of the trust agreement, and that Mr. Mix (who had shaken his
head, negatively, when Henry e