Three people coming twice during the week, in 50 cent seats, come FREE Sunday

A PURELY VOLUNTARY COLLECTION will be taken up and divided between The a.s.sociated Charities The Starving Children of Belgium _and_ The Chinese Famine Fund This Sunday

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON--an absorbing drama of Biblical days Next Sunday BEN-HUR, in seven reels

NO ADMISSION FEE BEING CHARGED, AND ALL VOLUNTARY CONTRIBUTIONS BEING DEVOTED TO CHARITY, THIS ENTERTAINMENT DOES _NOT_ FALL WITHIN ANY CITY ORDINANCE PROHIBITING SUNDAY PERFORMANCES

THE ORPHEUM Motion Pictures

Mr. Mix, goggle-eyed, jumped for the telephone, and called the City Hall, but as soon as the Mayor was on the wire, Mr. Mix wrestled down his excitement, and spoke in his emba.s.sy voice. "h.e.l.lo--Rowland? This is Mix. I want to ask you if you've seen an ad of the Orpheum Theatre in this morning's paper?... Well, what do you propose to do about it?"

The Mayor answered him in a single word: Mr. Mix started, and gripped the receiver more tightly. "_Nothing!_... Why, I don't quite get you on that.... It's an open and shut proposition--No, I most certainly am _not_ trying to make a pun; I'm calling you up in my official capacity. That's the most flagrant, barefaced attempt to evade a law--Why, an _idiot_ could see it! It's to drive the crowd into the Orpheum during the week, so that--"

He listened, with increasing consternation. "_Who_ says it isn't a violation? Who? The City Attorney?" Mr. Mix was pale; and this was quite as uncommon as for his fiancee to blush. "When did he say so?...

What's that? What's his grounds?... Repeat it, if you don't mind--Practically a charitable performance by _invitation_--"

"Why, sure," said the Mayor. He realized perfectly that Mr. Mix had the League and another thousand people of small discernment behind him, but the Mayor didn't want to be re-elected, and did want to retire from politics. "The Orpheum doesn't say a fellow that comes Sunday has got to prove _he_ spent the money for the tickets, does it?

Anybody that's got the stubs can come. They're just as much invitations as if they were engraved cards sent around in swell envelopes. If you've got one--whether you paid for the _invitation_ or not, or if you got it in the mail or picked it up on the street, you can go on in. And as long's no money's taken in over the counter, the City Attorney says it's O.K. Of course, you can pet.i.tion the Council, if you want to."

Mr. Mix was licking his lips feverishly. "I'm obliged to you for your advice. We _will_ pet.i.tion the Council--I'll have it signed, sealed and delivered by noon today.... And if that don't do, we'll apply for an injunction.... And we'll carry this to the _Governor_ before we're done with it, Rowland, and you know what state laws we've got to _compel_ a Mayor of an incorporated city to do his duty!... This is where we part company, Rowland. You'll hear from me later!" He slammed down the receiver, rattled the hook impetuously, and called Mirabelle's number.

"Mirabelle ... good-morning; have you ... No, I'm not cross at you, but--Oh! Good-morning, _dear_.... This is important. Have you seen the Orpheum's ad in the _Herald_? Isn't that the most barefaced thing you ever _saw_? Don't we want to rush in and--"

She interrupted him. "Why, no, not when it's for charity, do we?"

Mr. Mix nearly dropped the receiver. "Charity! Charity your grandmother! It's a cheap trick to attract people during the week, so they'll have a show on Sunday in _spite_ of the law!"

"Oh, I don't doubt there's _some_ catch in it. That's Henry all over.

But if the League went out and interfered with an educational and sort of religious program with a collection for charity, we'd----"

"Yes, but my dear woman, would we sanction a _dance_ for charity? A poker-party? A wine-supper? We----"

"But there won't be any dancing or drinking or card-playing at the Orpheum, will there?"

He lost his temper. "What's the matter with you? Can't you _see_--?"

"No, but I can hear pretty well," said Mirabelle. "I'm not deaf. And seems to me--" She sniffled. "Seems to me you're making an awful funny start of things, Theodore."

"My dear girl--"

"What?"

"I just said 'my dear girl.' I----"

"Say it again, Theodore!"

To himself, Mr. Mix said something else, but for Mirabelle's benefit, he began a third time. "My dear girl, it's simply to evade the law, and----"

"But Theodore, if we lift one finger to stop the raising of money for the poor starving children in foreign countries, we'd lose every sc.r.a.p of influence we've gained."

"But this means that _all_ the theatres can open again!"

"Well, maybe you'd better get to work and frame the amendment to Ordinance 147 we've been talking about, then. And the new statute, too. We've wasted too much time. But under the old one, we can't go flirting with trouble. And if all they do is show pictures like Ben-Hur, and The Swordmaker's Son, why ... don't you see? We just won't notice this thing of Henry's. We can't afford to act too narrow.... And I'm not cross with you any more. You _were_ all worked up, weren't you? I'll excuse you. And I could just _hug_ you for being so worked up in the interests of the League. I didn't understand....

When are you coming up to see me? I've been awfully lonesome--since yesterday."

Mr. Mix hung up, and sat staring into vacancy. Out of the wild tumult of his thoughts, there arose one picture, clear and distinct--the picture of his five thousand dollar note. Whatever else happened, he couldn't financially afford, now or in the immediate future, to break with Mirabelle. She would impale him with bankruptcy as ruthlessly as she would swat a fly; she would pursue him, in outraged pride, until he slept in his grave. And on the other hand, if certain things _did_ happen--at the Orpheum--how could he spiritually afford to pa.s.s the remainder of his life with a militant reformer who wouldn't even have money to sweeten her disposition--and Mr. Mix's. He wished that he had put off until tomorrow what he had done, with such conscious foresight, only yesterday.

CHAPTER XII

Now although Mr. Mix had shaken with consternation when he saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt of the Orpheum, Henry shook with far different sentiments when he saw the announcement in eulogy of Mr. Mix. It was clear in his mind, now, that Mr. Mix wasn't the sort of man to marry on speculation; Henry guessed that Mirabelle had confided to him the terms of the trust agreement, and that Mr. Mix (who had shaken his head, negatively, when Henry estimated his profits) had decided that Henry was out of the running, and that Mirabelle had a walkover. The guess itself was wrong, but the deduction from it was correct; and Henry was convulsed to think that Mr. Mix had shown his hand so early.

And instead of gritting his teeth, and d.a.m.ning Mr. Mix for a conscienceless scoundrel, Henry put back his head and laughed until the tears came.

He hurried to show the paragraph to Anna, but Anna wouldn't even smile. She was a woman, and therefore she compressed her lips, sorrowfully, and said: "Oh--_poor_ Miss Starkweather!" To which Henry responded with a much more vigorous compression of his own lips, and the apt correction: "Oh, no--poor Mr. Mix!"

He carried his congratulations to his aunt in person; she received them characteristically. "Humph!... Pretty flowery language.... Well, you don't need to send me any present, Henry; I didn't send _you_ one."

"When's the happy event to be?" he inquired, politely.

"June. Fourth of June."

"And do you know where you're going for your honeymoon?"

"I don't like that word," said Mirabelle. "It sounds mushier than a corn-starch pudding. And besides, it's n.o.body's business but his and mine, and I haven't even told _him_ yet. I'm keeping it for a surprise."

"Oh!" said Henry. "That's rather a novel idea, isn't it?"

"Humph!" said Mirabelle, dryly. "The whole thing's novel, isn't it?

But I'm obliged for your coming up here, Henry. I didn't suppose you had enough interest in family matters to be so nosey, even."

Later in the week, Henry encountered Mr. Mix, and repeated his congratulations with such honeyed emphasis that Mr. Mix began to stammer. "I appreciate all you say, Henry--but--come here a minute."

He drew Henry into a convenient doorway. "I'm sort of afraid, from the way you act, there's something in the back of your mind. I've thought, sometimes, you must have lost sight of the big, broad principles behind the work I'm doing. I've been afraid you've taken my work as if it was directed personally against _you_. Not that I've ever heard you _say_ anything like that, but your manner's been ... well, anyway, you're too big a man for that, Henry. Now about this new scheme of yours. It's my feeling that you're dodging the law by sliding in the back door. It's my official duty to look into it. Only if we _do_ have to put a stop to it, I want you to realize that I sympathize with any personal loss you may have to suffer. Personally, I'm grieved to have to take this stand against John Starkweather's nephew. You understand that, don't you?"

Henry nodded a.s.sent. "Why, certainly. Your motives are purer than the thoughts of childhood. The only thing I _don't_ understand is what all this has to do with my congratulating you?"

"Oh, nothing whatever. Nothing at all. It was just your manner."

"Let's come out in the open, then. How do you think you _could_ put a stop to it? Because if you could, why, I'll save you the trouble."

Mr. Mix hesitated. "You were always an original young man, Henry. But if it's my duty to stop your show, why should I give away my plans? So you could antic.i.p.ate 'em?"

"No, I've done that already."

"Now, Henry, that sounds too conceited to be like _you_."