"What does that mean?" asked Mr. DeVere, from the reverie into which
he had fallen.

"I think it means," replied Alice, with a laugh in which there was
little mirth, "think it means that we won't have any meat for lunch,
Dad."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the actor.

Ruth came in with flushed face.

"Who was it?" asked her father, though there was no need.

"Only the butcher's boy. He said----"

"We heard," interrupted Alice, significantly. "Have we any eggs?" she
asked, grimly.

"This--this is positively too much!" said Mr. DeVere. "I shall tell
that meat man----"

"I'm afraid he wouldn't listen to you, Daddy," interposed Ruth,
gently. "We do owe him quite a bill. I suppose we can't blame him,"
and she sighed.

"I--I'll go at once and see Mr. Cross, my former manager," exclaimed
Mr. DeVere. "He will make me a loan, I'm sure. Then I'll pay this
butcher bill, and tell the insulting fellow that we shall seek a new
tradesman."

"Then there's the rent, Daddy," said Ruth, in a low voice.

"Oh, yes--the rent. I forgot about that." The dispossess notice
rustled in his hand. "The rent--Oh, yes. That must be paid first.
I--I will have to get a larger loan. Well, get me what lunch you can,
Ruth, my dear, and I'll go out at once."

Alice did not say "movies" again, not even when the very modest and
frugal lunch was set. And it was about the "slimmest" meal, from a
housekeeper's standpoint, that had ever graced the DeVere table, used
as they had become to scanty rations of late. Mr. DeVere said little,
but he appeared to be doing considerable thinking and Alice allowed
him to do it without interruption. She seemed to know how, and when,
to hold her tongue.

When he had gone out Ruth and Alice talked matters over. First they
counted up what money they had, and figured how far it would go. If
they paid the rent they would not have enough to live on for a week,
and food was almost as vital a necessity as was a place to stay.
There were other pressing bills, in addition to those of the butcher
and the landlord.

"Don't you see, Ruth, that daddy's going into the movies will be our
only salvation?" asked Alice.

"It does seem so. Yet could he do it?"

"He could--if he would. I saw some very poor actors there to-day."

"But is the pay sufficient?"

"It is very good, Russ says. And it increases with the fame of the
actor. I wish I could get into the movies myself."

"Alice DeVere!"

"I don't care; I do! It's