se, now transformed into a real maid for an actress,
was busily engaged preparing the toilette articles and the costumes of
Miss Martha Farnum, actress.

Messenger boy 735, his diminutive figure almost hidden beneath a
gigantic box of flowers, was escorted through the baize doors by old
Pete, the back-door watchman.

"Put 'em down there, sonny," directed Pete, pointing toward a couch in
the green-room. "And then vamoose quick. I got to watch the door, 'cause
Miss Farnum ain't come in yet."

Number 735 deposited the flowers as directed, carefully cut the strings,
opened the box, and was in the act of breaking off a fine American
Beauty when Lizzie fortunately caught sight of him from the
dressing-room.

"Here, you thief. Don't you dare," she cried.

"I only wanted one, lady," replied 735. "Gee, if I was an actress with
all them blooms, I'd be glad to slip one of them to a kid who's going to
sit up in the gallery and applaud your old show."

"Are you going to see the play?" asked Lizzie.

"Betcher life. A man give me a ticket and four bits to sit in the
gallery and clap everything."

"What--everything?" queried Lizzie.

"Well, everything our leader does. There's forty of us kids, all got
gallery tickets free and fifty cents on the side. And say, when Miss
Farnum comes on the stage, you bet she'll hear us yell. We got orders to
raise de roof den."

"You awful boy," cried Lizzie, genuinely shocked. "Here, take the rose,
but don't tell any one about your free tickets. Miss Farnum won't care
to have any one know the audience is paid to clap her."

"Aw, quit kidding me," responded 735, moving toward the stage. "Why, we
sees 'most all the New York shows that way for nothing. We get paid to
clap, even if the show's rotten. Don't try to kid me, baby."

"It's wonderful what you learn when you go on the stage," murmured the
horrified Lizzie, after she had chased 735 into the darker regions of
the stage. "I wonder what's keeping Miss Farnum?" she added
thoughtfully, as she returned to the dressing-room.

Weldon, clad in immaculate evening clothes, and accompanied by an
unobtrusive young chap wearing a dinner coat, a gray vest, a gray tie
and a small derby, strolled back behind the scenes to make sure
everything was all right for the opening. This was really Weldon's most
ambitious attempt. For years he had served in a business capacity with
many stars, and occasionally he had produced things on his own account,
but