etitors in bulk. What a
customers'-man Henry would have been, if he had entered Mr. Mix's
brokerage office! Yes, he was clever, and this present inspiration of
his was really brilliant. Mr. Mix could see, clearly, just what Henry
had devised. He had devised a rebate: from a book-keeping standpoint
he was cutting his own prices during the week (for of course the
Sunday performance was costly to him) but he was cutting them in such
a subterranean manner that he wouldn't expect to lose by it. Palpably,
he thought that Orpheum stubs would become negotiable, that they would
pass almost as currency, that when people hesitated between the
Orpheum and any other theatre, they would choose the Orpheum because
of the Sunday feature. But did Henry imagine that his scheme was
copyrighted? Mr. Mix had to smile. Across the street, there were fully
a hundred people waiting for the doors to open ... the doors _had_
opened, and the crowd was filing past the ticket-booth. The house
would be packed solid from now until late evening. But when _next_
Sunday came, and all the other houses, relying upon Henry's triumph
over the City Attorney and the District Court, stole Henry's
thunder.... It was to laugh. Week-day business would be spread thin,
as always; people could suit their own choice, and have the same
Sunday privilege. And this would knock all the profit out of it.

Mr. Mix retired, in the blandest of good-humour, and on Monday he
visited the manager of the largest picture house in town.

"I suppose," he said, "you're going to follow the procession, aren't
you?"

The manager looked at him queerly. "Well--no."

"Really?"

"No. That bird Devereux put it all over us like a tent." He snorted
with disgust. "Man from Standish's office come round here a while back
and asked for a price for the house for Sundays up to August. _We_
thought it was for some forum, or something; and the damn place was
shut down anyway; so we made a lease. Next twenty Sundays for four
hundred and seventy-five beanos, cash in advance. Then it turns up
that Standish's office was actin' for Devereux."

The bloom of apoplexy rose to Mr. Mix's cheeks. "You mean he--do you
know if he leased more theatres than _this_ one? Did he?"

"_Did_ he! He signed up the whole damn Exhibitors' Association.
There's twenty-two houses in town, and he's tied up twenty-one and he
owns the other. Far's I can find out, it only cost him about six
thousand to get an air-tight monopo