"Nothing of the sort--" began Weldon, when Hummer, with a warning gesture, held his finger to his lips and nodded toward the dressing-room where Lizzie was preparing for the coming of her mistress.

"Cut it, Weldon," he whispered meaningly. "I know it's not your money, so what's the use?"

"Not my money? Don't I pay you your salary?"

"Certainly; but I know, and every one else in the company guesses, that you are only the figurehead."

"The idea!" sputtered Weldon, pompously. "Don't the bills read: 'Victor Weldon presents Miss Farnum'?--_presents_, mind you."

Hummer stepped closer a bit, puffed at his cigarette, and motioned toward the dressing-room.

"She's the meal ticket," he added.

"You mean Miss Farnum?"

"Exactly. She found the angel, not you. If he withdrew his support to-night, you couldn't keep this thing going thirty minutes."

Weldon dropped into a chair and asked weakly:

"How did you find out?"

"The day you engaged me to incite public interest in your star, I found out who the angel was. I hadn't been hanging around the Casino for nothing. Half a dozen of the newspaper boys know all about his infatuation for her."

Victor Weldon smiled weakly. "Every one said you were good at guessing things," he remarked. "But listen, Phil. Not a word of this to any one.

Even Miss Farnum doesn't know how things really stand."

Hummer whistled.

"She don't know Gordon is putting up the money?"

Weldon shook his head.

"And she thinks it is honest recognition of real merit?"

Weldon said nothing.

"My word, what a good story, and I can't print it," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Hummer, turning toward the door that led behind the boxes to the front of the house. Just as he was about to open it, Gordon pushed it ajar with one quick stroke of his powerful arm, and strode into the green-room.

"Where's Miss Farnum?" he asked brusquely. "Oh, I thought you were Weldon," he added, turning abruptly from Hummer.

"This is Mr. Hummer, our press representative," explained Weldon, coming forward eagerly.

"Ah, the press agent? Very good," responded Gordon, carelessly turning his back on Hummer.

"Let us say, rather, inciter of public interest," explained Hummer.

"Paid to get fiction into the papers, and to suppress facts."

Gordon turned toward him curiously. "Indeed! And what do you suppress?"

he asked.

"Well," drawled Hummer, "who is furnishing the money for Miss Farnum's starring venture, for one thing, especially as she doesn't know herself." And with a light laugh Hummer went "in front" by the pa.s.sage leading behind the boxes.

"See here, Weldon," said Gordon, decisively, "it is now almost eight o'clock. When do you ring up the curtain?"

"At twenty minutes past," replied Weldon.

"Then understand me thoroughly. You will not ring up that curtain until I say so. Understand me--_until I say so_."

Gordon's tone clearly indicated something unusual. "What do you mean?"

asked Weldon.

"Unless things go my way first, that curtain will never go up on this production," said Gordon, tensely. "Oh, don't worry," as he saw the other's face wrinkle. "I'll see that you personally don't lose anything by it. But if I am to pay the piper for this crazy starring scheme, I want some return for my money. Have the orchestra ring in as usual and play the overture. Have all the people ready in their costumes, and then, just before Martha Farnum steps upon that stage, I want to see her here. Do you understand?"

"I didn't before," answered Weldon, meaningly, "but I am just beginning to now."

Alone, Gordon clenched his hands nervously.

"I've given her everything she has wanted for the past three months," he murmured, "even this latest plaything--a theater and a company of her own--but I think we'll have a settlement to-night, my dear Martha; a little clearer understanding before the curtain rises on my latest folly."

CHAPTER XII

AN OVERTURE AND A PRELUDE

"This," said Martha, "is as far as you can venture. There is my dressing-room, sacred only to the star--that's Poor Little Me."

And with a profound courtesy, she bowed low before Clayton. Then rising with the air of a tragedy queen, she pointed toward the door.

"Begone, varlet!" she cried, with mock intensity. "Your queen dismisses you."

Clayton laughed. "So little Martha Farnum has become a great New York star at last," he said seriously. "I couldn't realize that you were really going up so rapidly. This offer from Weldon was really enough to take your breath away, and when he decided during rehearsals to feature you so prominently, I concluded that perhaps you had more talent than either of us ever suspected. But when he actually starred you--say, did you see your name in electric letters as we came by the front of the theater?"

"Yes," cried Martha. "It almost took my breath away."

Clayton shook his head wonderingly.

"I remember your telling me Gordon offered to get you this engagement,"

he said. "Do you suppose--"

Martha laughed at his half-uttered thought.

"Mr. Gordon has had nothing to do with it," she declared. "I am sure of that, because he never came to one of the rehearsals. Once I saw some one out front in the darkened theater who seemed like Mr. Gordon, but when I asked him if he had attended the rehearsal he declared I was mistaken."

"But you've seen him?"