The Imp's Matinée
women, laughing and eating and walking about half-dressed, to a big, bare room where the Heavy Villain sat with his head on his arms, all alone. The fussy gentleman trotted over to him and tapped his shoulder.
"Look here," he said, "isn't this Henry Blair?" The Villain looked up. His eyes were blacker than ever.
"Yes, it is," he said shortly. "Who are you?"
The fussy gentleman smiled. "I'm Sibley, of New York," he said. The Villain started up.
"Sibley?" he stammered, "L. P. Sibley, the manager?"
"The very same," said the fussy gentleman, "and the man who made your father famous. What are you doing here, Blair?" The Villain blushed.
"I was sick," he said, "and I got discouraged, and I got in here and we drifted along"
"Well, you want to stop drifting and get to work," said the fussy gentleman. "You quit this travelling insane-asylum as soon as you can, and come down to me. You've got your father's talent, young man, and you want to do something with it. D'you see?"
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