"I haven't got it."

He stared at her until she backed away in awe. "You--you haven't _got_--four or five _thousand_--?"

Mirabelle began to whimper. "I've been so sure of--of August, you know--I've spent all Mr. Archer sent me. I--"

As he stepped forward, Mirabelle retreated. "You've got something of your own, though?" It wasn't an ordinary question, it was an agonized appeal.

"Only a separate trust fund John set up for me before he died--fifty thousand dollars--I just get the interest--sixty dollars a week."

Mr. Mix sat down hard, and his breathing was laboured.

"Great--Jumping--Jehosophat!" He wet his lips, repeatedly.

"Mirabelle--listen--if they modify that ordinance--so Sunday shows are legal again--those other fellows'll want to buy back--their contracts--from Henry. There's only a few weeks--but if Henry only raised a thousand dollars--he'd be so close to his ten thousand--" He reached for a gla.s.s of water and drank it, gulping. "Henry'll see _that_--he's got his eyes open every minute.... We've got to cut inside of him. Prevent those fellows from buying their Sunday leases back. Get hold of the man that's the boss of the Exhibitors'

a.s.sociation. Tell him we'll buy a _second_ option to lease the whole string of theatres for six weeks, subject to our getting a release from Henry. As if the League wanted 'em or something. Offer a big enough rent so they'll _have_ to accept--so they'd get more out of _us_ than if they opened up. Then they _can't_ buy back from Henry--and he's over a thousand short. I _know_ he is. And if you don't do it--" His gesture was dramatic.

Mirabelle's expression, as she wiped her eyes, was a pot-pourri of sentiments. "Humph! Can't say I like the idea much, kind of too tricky."

Mr. Mix played his last card. "Don't the ends justify the means? You and I'd be philanthropists, and _Henry_--" He watched her quiver. "And with a fund such as _we'd_ have, we'd begin all over again, and next time we'd win, wouldn't we?"

"Theodore. I've got fifty one hundred in the bank. It has to last 'till August. If you took five thousand _more_--"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed at the straw. "You bet I'll take it. It's for _insurance_.

And you telephone to Masonic Hall and see what's left of the three grand you wired 'em from--"

"The what?"

"The money you sent from Chicago. Get what's left. Soon as I find out, I'll hustle down town and get busy."

Mirabelle wavered. "The Council's going to--"

Mr. Mix gave her a look which was a throwback to his cave-man ancestry. "To _h.e.l.l_ with the Council!"

For an instant, her whole being rebelled, and then she saw his eyes.

"A-all right," she faltered. "I--I'll telephone!"

Inside of five minutes, she told him that of her loan, there was nothing left at all. The money had been wanted for the two-year rental of a new hall, at 300 Chestnut Street; the owner had made a marked concession in price for advance payment.

"Never mind, then," he rasped. "That's cold turkey. Give me a check for every nickel you've got.... And I'll want the car all day. I want a cup of coffee. And you wait right here until I get word to you what to do next."

"Couldn't I even--"

"You stay here! Far's _I_ know, I'll have you making the rounds of the hock-shops to cash in your jewelry. But--" He relaxed slightly. "But when it's for reform, my dear--when it's for civilization--the League--isn't it worth _any_ sacrifice?"

A spark of the old fire burned in her eyes. "Humph! Good thing _one_ of us has _got_ something to sacrifice, if anybody asked me. But here's your coffee.... Don't make such a horrid noise with it, Theodore."

At noon, he telephoned her two pieces of news. The Council, fairly swamped with hundreds of outraged voters, had promptly modified the existing ordinance, and rejected--unanimously--the Mix amendment. And Mr. Mix, who had spent three hours in conference, and in battle, had emerged victorious.

"Thank Heaven, we're safe!... And it only costs thirty-nine hundred.

(Five of this was Mr. Mix's self-granted commission.) I've bought a second option on every last house in town. And I'll need the car all afternoon. I've got to run all over everywhere and close these deals.... What are you going to do?"

"Why," she said with a rueful glance at her check-book. "I guess I'll go down and see how soon I can get that loan back. I'm not used to--putting off tradesmen's bills, Theodore. I wasn't brought up to it."

CHAPTER XVI

Now after prolonged debate, and a trial of irresistible force (which was Henry's logic) against an immovable body (which was Anna's loyalty), she had finally consented to run up into the country for a week's respite from the hot weather. Before she left, however, she was first sworn to secrecy, and told of the discovery of the lurking comma, and of the plan for a militant referendum; she was properly convulsed, but a little later, when her practical instincts had had a chance to a.s.sert themselves, she inquired of Henry where there was any benefit to the Orpheum.

"Not a bit," he a.s.sured her cheerfully.

"Not even in the Council--"

"Dearest, it doesn't make the difference of the billionth part of a counterfeit Russian rouble."

She regarded him curiously. "Are you as cheerful as all that just because you're getting back at Mr. Mix? And maybe spoiling his boom for Mayor?"

Henry said that he was all as cheerful as that; yea, more so. He was merely snagging the rope which had already been paid out; and it was glory in his pocket, because so many people before him had found the rope twitched out of their hands. She thought that this indication of a vengeful spirit was out of place in his character, but she forgave it, because at least it was founded on humour. And when he took her to the train, she forgave it on another score, because she realized that not since last autumn had she seen him so fundamentally boyish and irresponsible. She was glad that so much of his spontaneity had come back to him, but at the same time she was puzzled, for it didn't seem altogether like Henry, as she had a.n.a.lyzed him, to gloat so thoroughly over mere retaliation, humourous or not.

On Monday, he met her at the station, and as soon as she saw him, she remarked again the extraordinary uplift of his mood. She had read the _Herald_, and taken deep enjoyment from it; but Henry had a hundred unpublished incidents to tell her,--one of them concerned his own escape from possible complications by closing the Orpheum, issuing pa.s.ses good for the following week; and spending the day in the library of the Citizens Club--and in her amus.e.m.e.nt, and also in her happiness to be back with him, she didn't notice that Henry was driving her to the Orpheum instead of to their apartment.

"Why, what are we stopping here for, dear?"

Henry's laugh had a p.r.o.nounced overtone. "To meet Mr. Archer. I thought you'd like to be in on it."

"In on what?" She caught his arm. "Henry! Has something happened? Has it?" She stared at him, and as she recognized what might be hidden behind his expression of exquisite, unreserved joy, she was almost as frightened as if he had looked despairing instead of joyful.

"It wasn't settled until last week," he said, still with that wide, speculative smile, like a baby's. "It _really_ wasn't settled until Sat.u.r.day. And it won't be _positively_ settled until we've seen Archer.... And there he is waiting for us! I couldn't get him before--he was in the country for the week-end."

With no clear recollection of how she got there, she was sitting in Henry's tiny office, and Mr. Archer was sitting beside her, and Henry was standing at his desk, pawing over a heap of ledgers and cash-books. To Anna, there was something commanding in his att.i.tude, something more of crest than she had ever seen in him, even during the early period of his intrepid youth. And yet she could see, too, that his hands were a trifle unsteady, and that his lips betrayed an immense excitement.

"Mr. Archer," he said. "There's no use waiting until the first of the year. Either we've made good by this time, or we never will. Here's the books. They'll show a net profit, including Sat.u.r.day's deposit, of ten thousand five hundred."

Anna turned weak and faint, and she wanted to laugh and cry in the same breath, but she gripped the arms of her chair, and clung fast to what was left of her poise. If Henry had a miracle to report, Anna must hear it.

"It's a matter of interpretation," he went on, with his voice shaking for an instant. "And you're the interpreter. It came up so suddenly last week that I couldn't get hold of you. But I took a chance, anyway.... Does a lease count?"

The lawyer looked very sober. "A lease?"

"Yes. If I leased part of the theatre to somebody, would the income from that count?"

During the resultant silence, Anna distinctly heard her own heart beating. She looked at Mr. Archer, and saw that his brows were drawn down, and that his eyes were distant. Fearfully, she hung on his reply.

"That's a delicate question, Henry. You were supposed to make your profit from the operation of the theatre."