daddy and a manager--that was the beginning of the last lap
of the race. The manager accepted it and left father and daughter in a
state of ecstasy.

"Well, dad, it looks like the real thing this time."

"It does, Bobsie. Ye're not only the prettiest Garratry, but ye're the
smartest of the clan!"

"Blarney!"

"I wish yer mither could see ye the day. Ye were such a queer mite, but
smart--ye were always smart----"

"What'll I buy ye with our fortune, daddy? A farm in the ould counthry
and little pigs----"

"No pigs for me! I'd like me a body servant in brass buttons to wait on
me noight an' day. Whin I come down our marble stairs, I want to see him
sthandin' there, attintion, so I can say, 'Jimmy--there's yer valley.'"

"You funny old dad! What else? We'll get us a motor car----"

"Shure, an' a counthry place--but no pigs----"

"How about a yacht?"

"We'll sthay on land, mavourneen, 'tis safer."

"But we must go to Europe, cabin de luxe----"

"I don't care if it's de luxe, if it's D-comfortable," he laughed.

This was the beginning of a wonderful game of make-believe, which they
played for months. Bob's comedy went into rehearsal at once, and every
day when she came home, after hours spent in the theatre, she found
daddy laughing over some new scheme he had devised for spending their
fortune, when it came. They planned like magii with the magic carpet in
their hands, ready to spread before them.

They worked out tours of Europe, they built and rebuilt their country
house. They endowed charities for newspaper writers and interior
decorators--they planned a retreat for indigent magazine writers and an
asylum for editors. Life was a joyous thing, stretching out ahead of
them, full of colour and success, and then, on the very eve of the
production of Bob's play, daddy died. Bob went through it all, the first
night and what came after, like a wraith. The adulation and the praise
that came to her were ashes instead of fire.

Six years followed of success. Money, travel, friends, the love and
admiration of great audiences came to her, but Bob found life stale.
Lovers came a-plenty; she made them friends and kept them, or sent them
on their way. Bob had everything the world's wife wants, and in her own
heart she knew she had nothing. Generosity was her vice. Anybody in her
profession, or out of it, who was in trouble, had only to go to Bob
Garratry for comfort or for cash. There was usually a tired, discouraged