e application was no friend of Henry, or of
Judge Barklay. And Bob Standish's attorney, who by a fiction was
attacking Henry's position, had claimed that the Sunday show was
designed for profit, and that the price was merely collected in
advance. This would have been precisely Mr. Mix's thesis. Henry's own
lawyer had replied that since there was no advance in the price of
tickets during the week, there was no charge for Sunday. A ticket
during the week included an invitation. To be sure, one couldn't get
the invitation without the ticket, but where was the ordinance
violated? Would the Court hold, for example, that a grocer couldn't
invite to a lecture, for charity, on Sunday, every one who had
patronized his shop during the previous week? Would the Court hold
that an author couldn't invite to a public reading on Sunday, every
one who had bought his book on Saturday?

The Court wouldn't.

And Mr. Mix, who knew Henry's income to the nearest dollar, went home
and got a pencil, and covered sheet after sheet with figures.

Presently, he sat back and laughed. Why, he had had his hysterics for
nothing! Henry couldn't overcome his handicap unless he jammed his
house to capacity from now until August. No theatre had even yet
accomplished such a feat. And it wasn't as though Henry had a monopoly
on this scheme; in another week, all his competitors would be open
Sundays, too, with strictly moral shows, and no money taken at the
door, and he would have the same competition as always. And yet, to be
perfectly safe, (for Henry was fast on his feet) Mr. Mix had better
frame his amendment to the ordinance, and set the wheels in motion.
With good luck, he could have Henry blanketed by April.

That evening, Mirabelle found him more animated than usual; and more
lavish with compliments.

Since he had first seen Henry's advertisement, Mr. Mix had been as
uncertain of his prospects as a child with a daisy; he had foreseen
that it was only a part of a very narrow margin of fortune which would
determine whether he was to be a rich man, poor man, beggar man--or
jilt. Now, however, his confidence was back in his heart, and when, on
Sunday afternoon, he placed himself inconspicuously in the window of
an ice-cream parlour, squarely opposite the Orpheum, it was merely to
satisfy his inquisitiveness, and not to feed his doubt.

He had to concede that Henry was clever. Henry had introduced more
fresh ideas into his business than all his comp