o’clock on the following day. It was embarrassing. Old Hicks was entirely dependent on what Jarvis brought in at night, and they could neither of them afford to have the cab idle a full day. So he decided to stop at the theatre in the morning, and then deduct his time off duty. Promptly at eleven the cab arrived at the Empire Theatre and Jarvis descended from the box. He gave the boy a cent to hold his horse, although nothing except a bushel of oats could have urged the old bone-rack into motion. Up to the booth window he marched, and presented the letter. The boy inspected the old blue coat, the topper, and the worn gloves.
“Character costume,” he grinned: then he opened the letter, and his face changed.
“Excuse me, sir, I’ll see if Mr. Frohman will see you.”
He was out and back, almost at once, bowing and holding the door open.
“Right ahead, into the private office,” he said, importantly. A clerk took charge of our hero at the far door, announcing formally, “Mr. Jarvis Jocelyn, Mr. Frohman.”
Jarvis entered the big room and crossed eyes with the man at the far end. What Mr. Frohman saw was
