the impromptu epilogue to the play and the abandonment of the theater by the young star had occurred too late to reach the next morning’s papers.

the evening sheets were sure to make a spread. the actors were bound to gossip, and the stage-hands. somebody would tell some reporter and gain a little credit or a

little excitement. therefore almost everybody would join in the race for publication.

reben understood this, and he held a council of war with starr coleman as to the best form of presentation. he had a natural and not unjustified desire to have the

story do the least possible harm to his play. he collaborated with his press agent for hours over the campaign, and they decided upon a formal telegram to be given to

the associated press and the other bureaus. they would flash it to all the crannies of the continent. it was too bad that such easy publicity should be wasted on an

expiring instead of a rising star.

for the chicago papers reben decided upon an interview which he would give with seeming reluctance at the solicitation of coleman on behalf of the reporters.

the loss of sheila was a serious blow. the problem was whether or not “hamlet” could succeed with hamlet omitted; or, rather, if “as you like it” would prosper

without rosalind.

reben had been tempted to close the theater at once; then get winfield’s money out of him if he had to levy on his father’s business, which, the manager had learned,

was big and solvent.

but his egotism revolted at such a procedure, and in a fine burst of pride he had written the letter to bret and, tearing the “i o u” to shreds, sealed it in. at the

same time he resolved not to give up the ship. it was never easy to tell who made the success of a play. he had known road companies to take in more money without a

famous star than with one.

he rounded up batterson, got him out of bed, and sent for dulcie ormerod to meet him in the deserted hotel parlor and begin rehearsals at once. she could make up her

sleep later in the day or next week. then he went to his own bed.

sometimes luck conspires with the brave. the first stage-hand who met the first early morning reporter and sold him the story for a drink had the usual hazy idea one

brings away from a fist-battle. according to him winfield had come back on the stage drunk and started a row by striking at mr. eldon.

eldon knocked winfield backward into the arms of batterson and mcnish, and would have finished him off if sheila had not sheltered him. thereupon eldon ordered

winfield out of the theater, and he retreated under the protection of his wife, for it seemed that the poor girl had been deluded into marrying the hound.

the reporter was overjoyed at this glorious find. he hunted up sheila and winfield first. sheila answered the telephone, and at bret’s advice refused to see or be

seen. she gave the reporter the message that her husband had absolutely nothing to say.

it is a safe statement at times, but just now it confirmed the reporter in a beautiful theory that eldon had beaten winfield up so badly that he was in no condition to

be seen.

the reporter found batterson next and told him his suspicions. batterson, surly with wrecked slumber, was pleased to confirm the theory and make a few additions. he

owed winfield no courtesies.

when starr coleman and reben were found they needed no prompting to set that snowball rolling and to play up eldon’s heroism. coleman added the excellent thought that

winfield’s motive was one of professional jealousy because eldon had run away with the play and the star’s laurels were threatened. for that reason she had basely

deserted the ship; but the ship would go on. mr. reben, in fact, had felt that miss kemble was an unfortunate selection for the play and had already decided to

substitute his wonderful discovery, the brilliant, beautiful dulcie ormerod—photographs herewith.

that was the story that bret and sheila read when it occurred to them to send down for an evening paper. bret was desperate with rage—rage at eldon, at reben, at the

entire press, and the whole world. but he remembered that his father, who had been a politician, had used as his motto: “don’t fight to-day’s paper till next week.

you can’t whip a cyclone. take to the cellar and it will soon blow over.”

sheila was frantic with remorses of every variety. she blamed eldon for it all. she did not absolve him even when a little note arrived from him:

dear mrs. winfield,—after the exciting events of last night i overslept this morning. i have but this minute seen the outrageous stories in the newspapers. i beg you

to believe that i had no part in them and that i shall do what i can to deny the ridiculous r?le they put upon me.

yours faithfully,

floyd eldon.

eldon’s denials were as welcome as denials of picturesque newspaper stories always are. they were suppressed or set in small type, with statements that mr. eldon very

charmingly and chivalrously and with his characteristic modesty attempted to minimize his share in a most unpleasant matter.

bret was so annoyed by a chance encounter with a group of cross-examining reporters, and found himself so hampered by his inability to explain his own anger at eldon

and the theater without implying gross suspicion of his wife’s behavior, that he broke away, returned to the policy of silence that he ought not to have left, and,

gathering sheila up, fled with her to his own home.

the play profited by the advertisement, and dulcie ormerod slid into the established r?le like a hand going into a glove several sizes too large. eldon was doubly a

hero now, and reben went back to new york with triumph perched on his cigar.