story at
his own expense is all right." His brows had gone down again, and Anna
shivered. "But even if you've got your whole rental in advance, you
aren't entitled to claim all of it belongs to this year's income. As a
matter of fact, you actually _earn_ a twenty-fourth of that whole
payment every month for twenty-four months."

Henry spoke over his shoulder. "You haven't read far enough."

"Oh!" Mr. Archer laughed, but his voice was no lighter. "Why, how on
earth did you persuade anybody to execute such an agreement as that?"

Henry faced around. "Bob Standish engineered it. Told this chap as
long as he paid in advance anyway, to get a bargain, it wouldn't make
any difference to _him_, and it made a lot to me. Nine hundred and
fifty a month for July and August and fifty a month for the next
twenty-two months."

"But my dear boy, you still don't _earn_ more than a twenty-fourth of
the whole rental each month. That's ordinary book-keeping. I should
have thought you'd have learned it. It makes no difference _when_ the
lessee pays. All you can credit yourself in July and August is--"

"Oh, no, Mr. Archer. There's a consideration. You'll find it on the
next page. I'm to keep the theatre closed every afternoon in July and
August so the lessee can make his alterations to the second story. And
the extra price for those months is to pay me for loss of revenue. So
it _does_ count on this year's income. Maybe I'm no impresario, but by
gosh, I can keep a set of books."

Mr. Archer nodded briskly. "That _is_ different. Why, Henry, as far as
I can see ... what's this? 300 Chestnut Street? But the Orpheum's on
Main."

"300 Chestnut is the back entrance," said Henry. He smiled across at
Anna, and she stood up and came a perilous step towards him. "Well,
old lady," said Henry, and the same wide, foolish smile of utter joy
was on his lips. "I guess this fixes it. I--"

He was rudely interrupted by the violent opening of the door. His Aunt
Mirabelle stood there, dynamic, and behind her, in a great fluster of
dismay and apprehension, stood the chairman of the Quarters Committee
of the Reform League.

"Henry! Henry Devereux! You--you swindler!" Her speech was seriously
impeded by her wrath. "You--you--you." She flung a savage gesture
towards the little man in the background. "You had an agent show
him--show Mr. McClellan--this place through the back door!--_He_
didn't know I--Henry Devereux, you've got _my_ three thousand dolla