her hand and ran back toward the balcony. "Give us our
lines," he said to the prompter, as he went past.

The prompter had dropped the book, and couldn't find the place.

"Make them up," came in a piercing whisper from behind the balcony.

A silence ensued while the two dashed back and forth, looking excitedly
up and down the stage. Then the despairing Lord Bromley stretched out
his arms in a gesture of supplication. "Cynthia," he burst out in tones
of realistic longing, "I cannot bear this horrible suspense. Let us
flee." And they fled, fully three pages too early, forgetting to leave
the letter which should have apprised the Irate Parent of the
circumstance.

Georgie was tramping up and down the wings, wringing her hands and
lamenting the day that ever Patty had been born.

"Hurry up that Parent before they stop clapping," said Lord Bromley,
"and they'll never know the difference."

The poor old man, with his wig over one ear, was unceremoniously hustled
on to the stage, where he raved up and down and swore never to forgive
his ungrateful daughter in so realistic a manner that the audience
forgot to wonder how he found it out. In due time the runaways returned
from the notary's, overcame the old man's harshness, received the
parental blessing, and the curtain fell on a scene of domestic felicity
that delighted the freshmen in the gallery.

Patty crawled out from under the balcony and fell on her knees at
Georgie's feet.

Lord Bromley raised her up. "Never mind, Patty. The audience doesn't
know the difference; and, anyway, it was all for the best. My mustache
wouldn't have stayed on more than two minutes longer."

They could hear some one shouting in the front, "What's the matter with
Georgie Merriles?" and a hundred voices replied, "She's all right!"

"Who's all right?"

"G-e-o-r-g-i-e M-e-r-r-i-l-e-s."

"What's the matter with the cast?"

"They're all right!"

The stage-door burst open and a crowd of congratulatory friends burst in
and gathered around the disheveled actors and committee. "It's the best
senior play since we've been in college." "The freshmen are simply crazy
over it." "Lord Bromley, your room will be full of flowers for a month."
"Patty," called the head usher, over the heads of the others, "let me
congratulate you. I was in the very back of the room, and never heard a
thing but your crash. It sounded _fine_!"

"Patty," demanded Georgie, "what in the world were you doing?"

"I was