"Naturally," said Mr. Marrier. "In this hot weathah--! I never knew such a hot June! It's the open-air places that are doing us in the eye.

In fact I heard to-day that the White City is packed. They simply can't bank their money quick enough."

It was on that day that Edward Henry paid salaries. It appeared to him that he was providing half London with a livelihood: acting managers, stage managers, a.s.sistant ditto, property men, stage hands, electricians, prompters, call boys, box-office staff, general staff, dressers, commissionaires, programme girls, cleaners, actors, actresses, understudies, to say nothing of Rose Euclid at a purely nominal salary of one hundred pounds a week. The tenants of the bars were grumbling, but happily he was getting money from them.

The following day was Sat.u.r.day. It rained--a succession of thunderstorms. The morning and the evening performances produced together sixty-eight pounds.

"Well," said Mr. Marrier. "In this kind of weathah you can't expect people to come out, can you? Besides, this cursed week-ending habit--"

Which conclusions did not materially modify the harsh fact that Edward Henry was losing over thirty pounds a day--or at the rate of over ten thousand pounds a year.

He spent Sunday between his hotel and his club, chiefly in reiterating to himself that Monday began a new week and that something would have to occur on Monday.

Something did occur.

Carlo Trent lounged into the office early. The man was forever being drawn to the theatre as by an invisible but powerful elastic cord. The papers had a worse attack than ever of Isabel Joy, for she had been convicted of transgression in a Chicago court of law, but a tremendous lawyer from St. Louis had loomed over Chicago and, having examined the doc.u.ments in the case, was hopeful of getting the conviction quashed.

He had discovered that in one and the same doc.u.ment "Isabel" had been spelt "Isobel," and, worse, Illinois had been deprived by a careless clerk of one of its "l's." He was sure that by proving these grave irregularities in American justice he could win on appeal.

Edward Henry glanced up suddenly from the newspaper. He had been inspired.

"I say, Trent," he remarked, without any warning or preparation, "you're not looking at all well. I want a change myself. I've a good mind to take you for a sea voyage."

"Oh!" grumbled Trent. "I can't afford sea voyages."

"_I_ can!" said Edward Henry. "And I shouldn't dream of letting it cost you a penny. I'm not a philanthropist. But I know as well as anybody that it will pay us theatrical managers to keep you in health."

"You're not going to take the play off?" Trent demanded suspiciously.

"Certainly not!" said Edward Henry.

"What sort of a sea voyage?"

"Well--what price the Atlantic? Been to New York? ... Neither have I!

Let's go. Just for the trip. It'll do us good."

"You don't mean it!" murmured the greatest dramatic poet, who had never voyaged farther than the Isle of Wight. His eyegla.s.s swung to and fro.

Edward Henry feigned to resent this remark.

"Of course I mean it. Do you take me for a blooming gas-bag?" He rose.

"Marrier!" Then more loudly: "Marrier!" Mr. Marrier entered. "Do you know anything about the sailings to New York?"

"Rather!" said Mr. Marrier, beaming. After all he was a most precious aid.

"We may be able to arrange for a production in New York," said Edward Henry to Carlo, mysteriously.

Mr. Marrier gazed at one and then at the other, puzzled.

CHAPTER X

ISABEL

I.

Throughout the voyage of the _Lithuania_ from Liverpool to New York, Edward Henry, in common with some two thousand other people on board, had the sensation of being hurried. He who in a cab rides late to an important appointment arrives with muscles fatigued by mentally aiding the horse to move the vehicle along. Thus were Edward Henry's muscles fatigued, and the muscles of many others; but just as much more so as the _Lithuania_ was bigger than a cab.

For the _Lithuania_, having been seriously delayed in Liverpool by men who were most ridiculously striking for the fantastic remuneration of one pound a week, was engaged on the business of making new records.

And every pa.s.senger was personally determined that she should therein succeed. And, despite very bad June weather toward the end, she did sail past the Battery on a grand Monday morning with a new record to her credit.

So far, Edward Henry's plan was not miscarrying. But he had a very great deal to do and very little time in which to do it, and whereas the muscles of the other pa.s.sengers were relaxed as the ship drew to her berth Edward Henry's muscles were only more tensely tightened. He had expected to see Mr. Seven Sachs on the quay, for in response to his telegram from Queenstown, the ill.u.s.trious actor-author had sent him an agreeable wireless message in full Atlantic; the which had inspired Edward Henry to obtain news by Marconi both from London and New York, at much expense; from the east he had had daily information of the dwindling receipts at the Regent Theatre, and from the west daily information concerning Isabel Joy. He had not, however, expected Mr.

Seven Sachs to walk into the _Lithuania's_ music-saloon an hour before the ship touched the quay. Nevertheless this was what Mr. Seven Sachs did, by the exercise of those mysterious powers wielded by the influential in democratic communities.

"And what are you doing here?" Mr. Seven Sachs greeted Edward Henry with geniality.

Edward Henry lowered his voice.

"I'm throwing good money after bad," said he.

The friendly grip of Mr. Seven Sach's hand did him good, rea.s.sured him, and gave him courage. He was utterly tired of the voyage, and also of the poetical society of Carlo Trent, whose pa.s.sage had cost him thirty pounds, considerable boredom, and some sick-nursing during the final days and nights. A dramatic poet with an appet.i.te was a full dose for Edward Henry; but a dramatic poet who lay on his back and moaned for naught but soda water and dry land amounted to more than Edward Henry could conveniently swallow.

He directed Mr. Sachs's attention to the anguished and debile organism which had once been Carlo Trent, and Mr. Sachs was so sympathetic that Carlo Trent began to adore him, and Edward Henry to be somewhat disturbed in his previous estimate of Mr. Sachs's common sense. But at a favourable moment Mr. Sachs breathed humorously into Edward Henry's ear the question:

"What have you brought _him_ out for?"

"I've brought him out to lose him."

As they pushed through the bustle of the enormous ship, and descended from the dizzy eminence of her boat deck by lifts and ladders down to the level of the windy, sun-steeped rock of New York, Edward Henry said:

"Now I want you to understand, Mr. Sachs, that I haven't a minute to spare. I've just looked in for lunch."

"Going on to Chicago?"

"She isn't in Chicago, is she?" demanded Edward Henry, aghast. "I thought she'd reached New York!"

"Who?"

"Isabel Joy."

"Oh! Isabel's in New York, sure enough. She's right here. They say she'll have to catch the _Lithuania_ if she's going to get away with it."

"Get away with what?"

"Well--the goods."

The precious words reminded Edward Henry of an evening at Wilkins's, and raised his spirits even higher. It was a word he loved.