company in a proper manner, and we will keep
account-books."

"I am an artist," said M. Binet, with pride. "I am not a merchant."

"There is a business side to your art, and that shall be conducted in
the business manner. I have thought it all out for you. You shall not
be troubled with details that might hinder the due exercise of your art.
All that you have to do is to say yes or no to my proposal."

"Ah? And the proposal?"

"Is that you constitute me your partner, with an equal share in the
profits of your company."

Pantaloon's great countenance grew pale, his little eyes widened to
their fullest extent as he conned the face of his companion. Then he
exploded.

"You are mad, of course, to make me a proposal so monstrous."

"It has its injustices, I admit. But I have provided for them. It would
not, for instance, be fair that in addition to all that I am proposing
to do for you, I should also play Scaramouche and write your scenarios
without any reward outside of the half-profit which would come to me as
a partner. Thus before the profits come to be divided, there is a salary
to be paid me as actor, and a small sum for each scenario with which I
provide the company; that is a matter for mutual agreement. Similarly,
you shall be paid a salary as Pantaloon. After those expenses are
cleared up, as well as all the other salaries and disbursements, the
residue is the profit to be divided equally between us."

It was not, as you can imagine, a proposal that M. Binet would swallow
at a draught. He began with a point-blank refusal to consider it.

"In that case, my friend," said Scaramouche, "we part company at once.
To-morrow I shall bid you a reluctant farewell."

Binet fell to raging. He spoke of ingratitude in feeling terms; he
even permitted himself another sly allusion to that little jest of his
concerning the police, which he had promised never again to mention.

"As to that, you may do as you please. Play the informer, by all
means. But consider that you will just as definitely be deprived of
my services, and that without me you are nothing--as you were before I
joined your company."

M. Binet did not care what the consequences might be. A fig for the
consequences! He would teach this impudent young country attorney that
M. Binet was not the man to be imposed upon.

Scaramouche rose. "Very well," said he, between indifference and
resignation. "As you wish. But before you act, sleep on the matter. In
t