st for blows. They came fast and
furious, but other breasts and heads beside her own suffered. Mr.
William Rooney was in full action. The entire company was on the stage
in the midst of the last ensemble bit in the first act, all talking and
acting with blue booklets of lines in their hands.

"Here you, Mr. Kent," roared Mr. Rooney as he rose from behind his
table, at one side of which sat faithful Fido annotating his copy of the
manuscript, "make up to that old lady like she was the last ham
sandwich extinct and you knew you were going to be fed on alfalfa the
rest of your life. Get her going, man, get her going! She's an old fool,
and you know it, but you've got to have her plantation and slaves. You
can keep a chorus-girl car in the garage if you just get her well
fooled. Fool along, fool along!"

"'I will write the message to your son, Madam Carrington, and dispatch
it forthwith by one of my own black boys. Is my hand not ever ready for
your service and my wit--and also my heart?'" declaimed Mr. Kent with
satisfactory fervor, as he kissed Miss Herne's fat white hand.

"Now blob, Miss Herne, blob!" directed Mr. Rooney, coming entirely from
behind the table. "You are the fool of this show and don't let anybody
get that away from you."

"'I pray a blessing on your excellent friendship, Judge Cheneworth, and
I will rest me content in--'" Miss Herne answered in a most excellent
imitation of the helplessness of an old grand dame.

"Break in there, Miss Lindsey, break in!" raved Mr. Rooney. "'Content
in' is your cue. Grab it. Remember you are just the sister and only in
the play to swell the list of actors on the program, so grab and keep
a-grabbing if you want a place on the salary list. Now, everybody on at
Miss Lindsey's lines and break up this drivel between the old birds."

"'Mother, Rosalind bids me say to you that--'"

"Crowd on everybody, crowd on, and keep things going! It will be nine
o'clock by now, and we'll have to begin to feed the audience the hugging
by a quarter to ten or they will go out and look elsewhere.--Say, Mr.
Leigh, are your feet mates? You don't handle 'em even."

Miss Adair rose and stole from the box to the stage-door, and looked up
and down the street to see if Mr. Vandeford was approaching. She felt
that she could not stand more alone. He was nowhere in sight, and she
decided to walk around the block and see if the sun at ninety degrees
would warm her chill. After this journey she ret