And now for the thriller. Old "Arapahoe" Grimes dies of angina pectoris
one night--so Helen informs us in a stage-ferryboat whisper over the
footlights--while only his secretary was present. And that same day he
was known to have had $647,000 in cash in his (ranch) library just
received for the sale of a drove of beeves in the East (that accounts
for the price we pay for steak!). The cash disappears at the same time.
Jack Valentine was the only person with the ranchman when he made his
(alleged) croak.

"Gawd knows I love him; but if he has done this deed--" you sabe, don't
you? And then there are some mean things said about the Fifth Avenue
Girl--who doesn't come on the stage--and can we blame her, with the
vaudeville trust holding down prices until one actually must be buttoned
in the back by a call boy, maids cost so much?

But, wait. Here's the climax. Helen Grimes, chaparralish as she can be,
is goaded beyond imprudence. She convinces herself that Jack Valentine
is not only a falsetto, but a financier. To lose at one fell swoop
$647,000 and a lover in riding trousers with angles in the sides like
the variations on the chart of a typhoid-fever patient is enough to make
any perfect lady mad. So, then!

They stand in the (ranch) library, which is furnished with mounted elk
heads (didn't the Elks have a fish fry in Amagensett once?), and the
denouement begins. I know of no more interesting time in the run of a
play unless it be when the prologue ends.

Helen thinks Jack has taken the money. Who else was there to take it?
The box-office manager was at the front on his job; the orchestra hadn't